


Tinted Windows

by CornflowerBlue (DayDaDahlias)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Ashton is Smiley, Depressing, Drama, Drugs, Everyone Is Gay, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Swear I'm Not Damaged, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Luke Hemmings & Calum Hood Friendship, M/M, More Just a Short Story About Street Whores, No Smut, Not Even So Much A Slash Fic, One Shot, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Rape Aftermath, References to Drugs, Sad Luke, Slow Burn, Street Whore AU, this is dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27852406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayDaDahlias/pseuds/CornflowerBlue
Summary: Luke doesn't trust sleek cars with tinted windows and he certainly doesn't trust the new kid on the corner who can't stop smiling. Whores aren't supposed to be that happy.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Comments: 15
Kudos: 39





	Tinted Windows

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my drafts and I went, _yeah, I'll post this_ (because what else will it do but collect dust in my drive?), but fair warning to you guys; it is _so_ much darker than I remember it being. 
> 
> That being said, please enjoy if you're into that kind of thing!

The cold rain begins loud and unwelcome, washing over everything with its frigid touch. Drops cascade down and melt over Luke’s face like wax, drenching him in a thin layer of dew. 

He watches with scrutinizing eyes as it pours down, darkening the earth from its original pastel colors into dripping dark leaves and muddy sidewalks, cars running by and spilling dirt onto the bike paths and the shoes of slow passerbys. 

His own sneakers have started soaking up the mess.

He takes a mental note of all the places that he could go hide from the rain but it soon occurs to him that he is now so wet he can’t go anywhere. 

No one wants a wet whore in their store.

It’s alright though. Sometimes it rains and he’s used to that by now, so he grabs his hood and pulls it over his head, quick to zip up his jacket to keep his t-shirt from getting any more drenched than it already is. 

He hears the soggy steps of a person nearby and he turns to see Calum shuffling closer, hands jammed in his pockets, groaning out as he approaches, “aw fuck, man.”

Luke doesn’t voice it in words but the way he grunts is a definite, ‘I know, right?’ and he moves closer to the wall of the brick building beside him so Calum and him can huddle together beneath the small awning. The rain still grazes their fronts. 

“This is fucking ridiculous.” Calum scowls as he presses his spine to the wall, hunching his shoulders into his neck and glowering up at the clouds hanging overhead. 

Luke agrees out loud this time by asking hopefully, “think it’s too early to go home?”

Calum gives him an incredulous look. “It’s only midnight.”

Luke squints at the grey sky. “I hate when you use logic.”

“It’s rare,” Calum responds, “but it’s necessary.”

“I’m gonna kill Michael for this,” Luke grumbles, “y’know where I should be right now, Cal? Home. I should be at fucking home. But no, I’m here.”

The glance Calum gives him is gentler and he quirks a smile. “We appreciate it though, and you know that. You’re a good friend, Lukey.” He bats thick eyelashes, clumped together by the rain, and nudges Luke with his shoulder. “Besides, you wouldn’t want lil’ ol’ me out by myself on the streets, now would you?”

“I would _gladly_ leave _lil’ ol’_ you out on the street if it meant a warm bed right now,” Luke returns and Calum lets out an offended gasp. “C’mon, think about Michael. All cozy in this bed right now, swaddled in blankets. That asshole’s probably lit a candle and s’reading romance novels while classical music plays in the background.”

Calum snorts. “You clearly don’t know Michael then.”

Which isn’t true but Luke knows what his point is. Michael is probably laying in bed alright but chances are he has a joint in one hand and his cock in the other. As is the Michael way. 

“He owes me so much for this,” Luke says to his side. 

Calum snorts. “He doesn’t owe you for shit. S’not like he meant to break his leg.”

There’s a short traded silence. An unspoken sentiment between them. Luke knows Michael didn’t mean to break his leg. 

He grumbles and fixes his hood. “All I’m saying is, I could be at home right now, comfortable and cozy in bed if it weren’t for Mike.”

Calum breaks off in a laugh and the corner of his eyes squint. He’s a cute guy, Calum—with his smooth, dark skin, round doe eyes, and fluffy black curls. If Luke weren’t such good friends with him (and if Michael and Calum weren’t absolutely obsessed with each other), he would definitely have gotten a crush. But he and Calum are far too close for that now. Not to mention the fact that Luke is far too close with Michael as well, and he would never want to get in between whatever it is that they have going on. 

They’re not dating, that has been established many times and been made aggressively apparent by the way they protest whenever he says ‘boyfriend’ around either of them. At this point, he does it solely to bother them. 

But they’re not dating, really; they just cuddle on the couch and share a bed, and cook for each other and kiss each other far too gently to be friends. Luke supposes though, in their line of work, it’s hard to determine what’s a real relationship and what’s just an excuse to feel something. 

Hell, Luke and Michael had their own little fling in the beginning when they were the only two in the loft (before Calum was hired) but that didn’t last long. Mostly because all they did was argue and awkwardly fuck on their couch. Another problem with their line of work. Sex doesn’t really mean anything anymore. 

You can throw that around all you please. Luke could probably ask Calum to have sex with him right now and it wouldn’t be an issue. Michael might be jealous but he would never admit it. He’s not that type. That’s probably why they haven’t properly labeled their relationship. Because Michael’s a dumbass. Not surprising. 

“Mike’ll make it up to you,” Calum promises after a beat, “you know he will.”

And yeah, most likely he will, because Michael hates owing anyone anything. It’s fine though, Luke actually doesn’t mind covering for Michael while he recovers. It’s far better to have Luke out on the street than Michael with his bum leg. 

Luke hates the image of Michael standing in the rain on their corner, leaning on his crutch. He can’t even imagine the sort of John that would pull over and ask that kid to get in… 

But yes he can. And it sends a shiver up his spine. 

“It’s better me than him,” Luke admits out loud and he scans his eyes across the street. Cars are whizzing by them and yet, none pull over. 

This is disappointing because Luke needs money but it’s relieving because he really does not want to go home with some old man tonight. He’s cold, soaked to the bone, and all he wants to do is go home so the three of them can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie while Michael and Calum kiss each other’s temples and pretend they aren’t falling in love with each other. 

“If the rain keeps up,” Calum says after watching the road in silence with Luke, “and we don’t get one in the next—” he checks the watch on his wrist, the most expensive thing he owns— “half-hour, we can call it a night.”

Luke lets out a hard breath of relief, throwing his head back. “Thank fucking God.”

“But—” Calum raises a finger— “you know we’re gonna have to work extra if we take off.”

“I don’t care!” Luke whines, “I just wanna go home _now_. My feet are wet and my fingers are cold.”

Calum smiles at him and ruffles his hair through his hood which Luke hates but doesn’t say anything. He simply rectifies the mess and grumbles to himself while trying to will feeling back into his freezing fingertips.

It’s as Luke is huffing hot air into his cupped hands that the car pulls up, sleek and black, definitely the sort of car an unhappily married, closeted older man drives, and Luke and Calum both perk up upon its arrival, watching as it comes to a slow stop. 

“You want it?” Luke asks from the side of his mouth, pushing off the wall. 

Calum regards the car carefully before saying from the side of his own mouth, “his windows are tinted.”

Luke narrows his eyes and, yep, Calum’s got a point there. Although, he doesn’t have to debate that one because when he looks back at the car, he notices another boy has already approached the window. 

So much for Luke or Calum getting any cash tonight. 

Luke frowns as he watches this newcomer bend over to look into the tinted window as it rolls down. Luke can’t make out much of him in the rain, but he can see the boy’s reflection in the car mirror and he’s got this wide smile plastered on, dirty blonde hair glued to his forehead in the rain. He isn’t wearing a jacket of any kind, only a soaked through sleeveless shirt (he’s got good arms) and tight jeans (he’s got good legs), his hands tucked lazily into his pockets (Luke notices he’s got a good looking body all over). No wonder the driver of the car is so intrigued. 

“Who’s that?” Luke askes, gesturing toward the boy and the car. 

“Oh.” Calum sniffs, squinting a tad to see better before he says, fully confident, “it’s Ashton.”

Like Luke is supposed to know. 

Luke cocks a brow. “D’you know him or something?”

Calum shrugs. “Sure I do. He works Wednesdays and Thursdays with Mike. Nice guy, I guess. Seems like it, anyway. Don’t talk to him much, I’ll be honest. Mike probably knows him better.”

Luke peers back at Ashton, who has straightened up, that broad grin in place as the car door is pushed open from the inside and he begins sliding into the backseat in this smooth way so he can kick his heavy boots onto the dashboard. Luke watches the way he folds himself into the car, that smile not wavering for so much as a second.

“He’s really…” Luke makes a sound of confusion. “ _Happy_ , isn't he?”

“Yeah.” Calum adjusts the sleeves of his jacket.

“How long’s he been working this corner?” Luke wonders. 

“Couple weeks?” Calum suggests, scratching through his messy hair. “Started right before Mike broke his leg.”

“Ah.” That explains it. He’s _new_. 

“Here,” Calum offers and he gestures with his head down the street, his wet hair hitting him in the eyes when his head moves, “my feet are soaked and I look like a literal ragdoll right now. I’m over waiting; this is shit. Let’s go.”

“ _Please_.” Luke agrees instantly by following after his friend into the rain, feeling the sharp bullets of water penetrate his hoodie and drip down his exposed skin. He sends a fleeting glance over his shoulder, barely catching the license plate of the sleek black car as it pulls away with Ashton tucked into the passenger seat, smiling. 

Luke asks as they start through the rain towards home, “how long d’you think that one’ll last?”

Calum makes a small sound in the back of his throat, hardly audible through the downpour. “Well, he’s _happy_.”

Which answers the question. 

Not long.

***

Luke was right about the joint.

The moment Calum and he walk through the door, their eyes land on Michael who is sprawled out on the couch in the center of the room, his cast propped up on the arm of the chair as he lays back on a pillow, holding the joint to his lips. 

Upon seeing them, he lets out a cough of surprise and smoke spills into the air. He pats himself on the chest to keep from choking as he says, “shit, hey guys.”

“Hi,” Luke says, stripping off his sopping hoodie and depositing it on the coat rack beside the door. 

“Hey, Mike,” Calum returns, voice bright, and he crosses the room to pluck the joint from Michael’s fingers so he can take a deep inhale and exhale out his nose. He lets out a relieved sigh the moment he does and dips to kiss Michael, breathing the remaining smoke into his mouth as he does. “Thanks for that.”

Michael hums a reply into Calum’s lips and Luke rolls his eyes. 

“You guys are back early,” Michael observes once Calum has detached himself and moved to the kitchen to retrieve a water bottle. 

“It’s pouring out. Fucking unreal.” Luke tugs off his wet shirt as well. Calum lets out a wolf-whistle from the kitchen and Luke flips him off as he grabs the nearest dry shirt off the floor. While he’s at it, he kicks off his pants too, leaving the wet clothes in a pile while he shuffles away in his damp boxers and a loose-fitting t-shirt. 

“Well, aren’t you adorable,” Michael purrs to him. 

“Don’t think I won’t break your other leg,” Luke threatens as he walks to the couch, sitting down on the edge of the cushion. Michael nudges his back with a knee. 

“Feisty tonight, are we, Lukey?”

“He’s got such an attitude these days. Teenagers,” Calum sings from the kitchen, returning with a bag of chips and a water bottle for Luke who accepts the offering before continuing off into the bathroom of their tiny loft.

“I’m nineteen,” Luke calls after him.

“What a baby!” Calum’s voice echos. “Itty bitty boy!”

Luke looks back at Michael who is smiling as he smokes. “You have fun here all by yourself?”

“Oh a grand old time.” Michael laughs. “I’m the best company I can have. You?”

“I stood in the rain.” Luke turns to the TV which is playing a commercial for Coca-Cola through the static. Luke wouldn’t mind a coke right about now. But all he’s got is crummy old water, and he doesn’t want to get up or go out, so he settles for a sip and tries not to be disappointed when it tastes like nothing.

Michael chortles again and takes in a puff of smoke. Luke turns the joint down when he offers. He may be a whore but God-willing, he’s not about to be a drug addict whore because that would be overdone. Far too cliche. He can’t be a struggling musician, drug-addict whore. That would be the worst. Michael and Calum can fill that role for him. 

Michael shifts up on the couch, giving Luke the room to scoot further back and get comfortable. 

“What?” Michael asks. “No work?”

Luke toys with the collar of his shirt. It may be Calum’s shirt actually now that he thinks about it; it smells like his cologne. “Two handjobs for me, one blowjob in the bathroom which was shitty as hell and he didn’t pay the extra ten for swallowing, and… I don’t know what Cal did. Cal! What’d you get tonight?”

“Four blows,” Calum answers as he re-enters the room, dressed in a comfy pair of grey sweatpants and a tank top that cuts off before his belly button so a strip of his brown skin is visible. 

Luke doesn’t miss the way Michael’s green eyes track it and he wets his lips before he takes another smoke. 

“That’s 350 between you two?” Michael asks. 

“Yeah, about,” Calum says as he walks around the couch, pushing Michael to move his head so he can sit on one end. Michael lets him before leaning against his side, tucking his head onto Calum’s shoulder. 

“Hmm,” Calum hums in content, pulling an arm around Michael’s shoulder to bring him closer, “you’re warm.”

“You’re freezing,” Michael grumbles back and Calum plants a kiss on top of his fucked-up hair.

“You didn’t tell me there was a new guy,” Luke interrupts the beginning of a cuddle session, directed to Michael who pulls a funny face, passing his joint up to Calum who grins as he accepts it. 

“Who?” Michael frowns. 

“Ashton,” Calum answers while he takes a smoke. 

Michael makes an ‘o’ with his mouth before answering. “Yeah, what about him? Started… two weeks ago maybe? Only talked to him, like, once. But he seems nice. Why?”

Luke shrugs. “No reason. Curious s’all. Took a John before I could.”

Calum snorts smoke. “Like you were gonna go after that.”

Which is a valid point because Luke definitely wasn’t; he doesn’t trust sleek cars with tinted windows and he’s wondering to himself how Ashton’s broad smile is holding up about now. 

“You got a crush, or something?” Michael teases, hitting Luke’s back again with his good knee. 

“No.” Luke shakes his head. 

And he doesn’t have a crush; he doesn’t get crushes. He also doesn’t know Ashton even a tiny bit so getting a crush now would be sort of weird. Just because Ashton’s got one of the best smiles he’s seen maybe ever, and some killer hazel eyes that he can make out even in the rain, or the fact that Ashton slid into that car with no fear, no reservation, confidence oozing from every turn of his body— No. Luke wouldn’t/doesn’t have a crush on him. 

But he can admit, “definitely cute though. Got a great smile.”

“Oh, for sure,” Michael agrees, suddenly invested. “And these crazy dimples too, if you haven’t seen him up close. Great laugh, as well. I swear, I made the worst joke and he fucking _giggled_ like a goddamn girl. Cutest shit. Yeah, I’d hit that for fucking sure. No question.”

Calum makes an obvious shift of discomfort on the couch but doesn’t say anything. 

“Speaking of,” Luke starts, sending Calum a soft glance, hoping to change the topic, “can’t wait ‘till you’re back on the job, Mike, and I get my day off again.”

Michael pouts. “But sitting alone all night and smoking is so much fun. I’ve watched so much reality television. I could recite _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ verbatim.”

“It’s gonna rot your brain,” Calum warns in a mock serious voice, tapping Michael on the head. 

“Can’t rot what doesn’t exist,” Luke replies and Michael knees him in the back so hard that he almost falls off the couch.

Calum laughs as he takes another puff of the joint. His grin is wide, and well-placed on his face, but Luke frowns because it’s not nearly as shiny as Ashton’s was when he slid into that car. 

Calum’s exhale of smoke spreads into the room, a grey cloud like the ones outside without the rain, and even though Luke promised he’d never be a drug addict whore, he catches himself inhaling second hand smoke.

***

The weekends are always the busiest, without fail, so Friday night is the perfect opportunity for Calum and Luke to make up for lost time and Calum is apparently taking that incentive to heart.

They’ve only been on the clock for about an hour and Calum has already disappeared and reappeared three separate times, coming back from each looking more disheveled and disgusted than the last. He’s sporting a permanent grimace and he keeps wetting his lips like there’s a foul taste on them he’s ancy to get off. 

Luke and he are resting against the same wall they hid from the rain yesterday, shoulder to shoulder, huddled close and glaring down the street. Luke adjusts his sleeves over and over, trying to determine what will make men stare more. Sleeves over his hands to make him look younger? Or rolled up sleeves to make him look bolder? Depends on what sort of clientele he wanted tonight. 

He settles on rolling them up and popping a button from his collar which Calum does the same. It lets Luke see the fresh hickey blossoming on his throat. 

“Next one is yours,” Calum says from the side of his mouth and Luke knows he has to agree. 

“Or maybe the new kid could come and take it,” he suggests. With that being said, he hasn’t actually seen Ashton at all tonight. Not even a glimpse of him. No hazel eyes. No dazzling smile. Nothing. And, maybe a tiny bit, Luke’s worried. 

That new kid smiled so wide and the windows on that car were so tinted and it’s such a horrible thought but all Luke can think is that no one can see Ashton’s limp body in the backseat through those windows.

Luke knows the new kids that don’t make it.

A while ago, a few months after he started, there was one new kid he knew by name. They had shared a pack of m&ms together on the kid’s first day. And then, the kid got into a sleek black car with tinted windows and in six days, they found his body two blocks over. 

So Luke doesn’t trust the sleek cars with tinted windows. 

Calum sends a glance around and one of his hands absently massages the forming hickey. “Doubt it. He doesn’t work until Wednesdays.”

And that’s a big _oh shit_ in Luke’s head because now he’s not going to know if New-Kid-Ashton with the wide smile and hazel eyes is even alive until half a week from now and by then his body will have already started to stink and the crows will have pecked out his eyes. 

Luke shivers, gnawing on his bottom lip.

He pulls his sleeves back down over his hands. 

“Hey,” Calum says, noticing the change, “you alright?”

Luke doesn’t get to answer him as a purple toyota comes pulling up to the curb, hugging the asphalt too close, the window rolling down before it even stops, and Luke lets out a rough sigh. It’s time to earn his keep, it seems; Calum can’t do all the heavy lifting. 

“Mine,” he says to Calum who pats Luke on the shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze.

“See you in thirty, cutie.”

Luke gives him a half salute as a good-bye, hating how his shoulder feels cold when Calum’s hand leaves it, before he saunters up to the toyota’s window, bending down to peer inside, batting eyelashes that are caked in cheap mascara as he places on a grin. 

“Hey, honey.” 

Which is all he needs to say before the door unlocks for him. He doesn’t have any reservations slipping into the passenger seat, leaning back into the leather so it swallows him up. 

When the windows roll down, he can see right through them. 

***

Calum can’t stop pinching the hickey on his throat when they’re at home. He’s on the couch, legs wrapped with Michael’s and, if it weren’t for the cast, Luke probably wouldn’t have been able to tell whose legs were whose.

He is on the floor, guitar in his lap, absently strumming the same two chords. He’s got a mall show in two weeks and he’s not stressed about it yet, but he will be. He’s performed live before and it’s not some great gig or anything, just a free spot at the tavern downtown on a Tuesday afternoon. Hopefully it’ll add some cash to his pocket lining. Cash that he feels proud to have, anyway. Or, cash that he would be willing to tell his parents back home he earned. 

He cracks his back and flicks the strings. 

Michael is painting Calum’s nails black on one hand while the other rubs over the fresh bruise on his neck, pressing and massaging it like if he does it long enough and hard enough, he’ll wipe it right off. He won’t, of course, all of them know this but there’s always that bit of hope that one day it will. 

One day, they’ll wake up in a different home in a different world, far away from here, and their bodies will finally feel clean again. 

“It’s so ugly,” Calum complains, laying his palm flat over the mark to hide it. Michael shrugs, finishing Calum’s nails, pulling away to admire his work, blowing lightly on them. 

“Pretend I gave it to you,” he suggests and Calum snorts. 

“That would make it even uglier.”

But there’s this sadness to his voice that Luke recognizes. The subtext that Calum wishes it _had_ been Michael’s mouth that sucked that mark into his skin. At least there would have been meaning behind that touch. 

Luke moves his guitar in his lap. That, and his t-shirt, are the only things hiding the bruises on his ribs. 

No meaning behind those touches.

***

Calum said that Ashton doesn’t work weekends but Luke still finds himself looking for hazel eyes in every wet whore that slips into a sleek car.

***

It rains again on Monday which would usually be horrible but during the afternoon, for lunch, Luke sits on their windowsill and watches it hit the glass, running down onto the street below. He can hear the traffic from inside.

He crunches an apple, the only sound the crisp bites he takes and the rain attempting to get inside to reach him and his fruit. 

Michael is asleep. Lots of resting, the doctor said. The psychiatrist said lots of resting. But really Michael is only resting because Calum told him to.

Luke sniffs and eats his apple, listening to the sonnet the rain sings and contemplates what songs he’s going to play for his gig in two weeks. 

Luke hates his job so much he wants to die but if he wasn’t a whore, he couldn’t buy this apple and this apple is pretty good so for a second, Luke thinks to himself that maybe life is alright. 

It thunders and lightning cracks. 

He thinks about later tonight when he will have to stand under the roof awning with the rain hitting his front and the thunder rumbling and no apples to hold or the shelter of a window to divide him from the elements and all the hands that are soon to touch him. 

No. 

No, life isn’t alright.

“Gonna be a fun one!” Calum’s voice breaks in sarcastically, jolting Luke in surprise at the sudden entry, as he walks up to stand beside Luke, staring out the window with his arms crossed. 

Calum is smiling as he peers through the glass and there are deep bruises beneath his eyes not caused by fingers or mouths but by lack of sleep, unwanted touch, and unlabeled love. 

The hickey on his neck has dulled some but he still smoothes a hand over it like he wishes it wasn’t there or at least that no one else could see it.

“It damn sure is,” Luke agrees, fakely chipper, hoping to make Calum laugh, “God, I can’t wait! You know how much I love middle-aged man dick in the rain!”

Calum smiles at him. “It’s your favorite.”

“Just under the elderly,” Luke says. “Ah, how I love old-man dick.”

Calum shakes his head and he lets out a snicker. “Where do I land in this ranking?”

Luke raises a brow.

“What?” Calum laughs. “My dick isn’t better than old-men’s?”

Luke purses his lips. “See, Cal, I don’t think it is. There’s something about the wrinkles that adds so much—”

Calum shoves him hard in the arm. “God, shut up. You’re disgusting.”

Luke laughs loudly and usually Calum would let him cackle in that high-pitched young way he does that makes everybody else smile by association but Michael is sleeping, and the doctor and the psychiatrist and Calum said he needed rest, so Calum holds a finger up to his lips, maintaining his soft smile as he does. 

Luke realizes and lets his laughter die off. He continues to grin though and the rain drills down on the roof. 

A beat passes while Luke and Calum listen to it sing. Luke takes a bite of his apple. And then he risks the question. “How is he?”

Calum bites his plump bottom lip, toying it between his teeth. “He’s… y’know.”

“The same?” Luke asks.

Calum nods. “He’s the same.”

“I think he’ll be okay.” Luke takes another bite of his apple. 

“I do too.”

Luke watches the rain run and he sighs. “It’s happened to all of us.”

That comment makes Calum stiffen, eyebrows angling up, and there’s so much pain in his face that Luke can’t put words to the expression. There’s not enough. 

It’s an unspoken thing. Luke shouldn’t have said anything. 

Calum turns to him and he examines Luke over, drawn in brows and watery eyes, bruises beneath his lids so heavy, before he reaches out and messes up Luke’s hair. 

Calum looks so much older than he should.

He pauses, petting through Luke’s hair a few times. There’s another moment between them in silence while the rain pours outside before Calum’s smile falls off his face; he takes a shuddering breath, and leans down to press a long kiss to Luke’s hair. 

Luke lets him. He knows Calum needs it more than he does. 

They hold in silence. Rain screams.

“Not forever, right?” Luke whispers. 

Calum lets out a sharp breath. “No.”

His voice cracks. 

“Not forever.”

***

Luke is not ready to die by any means but it wouldn’t be too bad right now if he took a nap in a hole, he thinks.

It’s dripping rain from the awning, this hard pitter patter on the ground in front of him, and he’s hiding beneath it with Calum once again, like he always does, tucked into himself. 

They’ve been out two and a half hours now. It’s cold. It’s wet. Luke wants to go home. His body hurts. 

“Okay.” Calum claps his hands—sensing the tension in between Luke and his own mind—the sound ringing loud in the stale air. “You wanna play rock paper scissors for the next one?”

Luke snorts, wiping his cold nose with a sleeve. “No.”

“Fine then; be that way.” Calum drops his hands to his sides and pouts. “I know you’d throw rock anyway.”

“I was gonna go paper.”

Calum grumbles as he attempts to fish his cigarettes out of his hoodie pocket, numb fingers getting lost in his clothes as he tries to find where he left the damned things. He scowls. “This sucks dick.”

“You suck dick,” Luke returns.

Calum smiles at the ground as he finds his cigarettes at last, reminding, “so do you, sugar.”

“Today,” Luke starts in, resting his head back against the brick; as it is the part of a slow night where they tell stories, and he really needs to lighten the mood because things feel so, so dark, “a guy called me Philip.”

“Oh?” Calum raises his head, forgetting his cigarettes in favor of the story, bouncing his brows. “A secret lover mayhaps?”

Luke grimaces. “I wish.”

“So who’s Philip? Inquiring minds want to know.” Calum is smiling and it’s this gentle smile he has, one where his eyes squint and his rounded cheeks squish up. He’s cute, Calum. Luke thinks he is so cute. He wants to take him home and put him in bed with Michael and not let his eyes get anymore bruised. 

“Well,” Luke says, skin prickling, “I found a picture in his wallet of his family.”

Calum’s cute smile vanishes. “No—”

“Pointed at his son—” Luke says.

Calum makes a disgusted face. “No, please—”

“Said, ‘that’s my son, Philip. You look a lot like him’.” Luke hits his head back against the wall and Calum squawks in alarm.

“Ugh!” Calum makes a gagging sound, turning away. “I fucking hate men.”

Luke shakes his head back and forth, rolling his skull against the wall. “Me too.”

“One guy tonight,” Calum says and Luke looks at him, “told me I was the same color as his dog. Asked if he could put me on a leash and call me his bitch. Walk on all fours around the motel room.”

Luke is about to gasp in disgust and complain about how horrible Johns are but then he notices that there’s this way Calum’s eye glints when he says that and his lips quirk into an awkward smirk. 

Luke’s jaw drops. “Tell me you didn’t.” 

“He paid a hundred extra, Luke!” Calum exclaims. “You expect me _not_ to!”

Luke can’t do anything other than let out an alarmed scoff which melts into a full laugh, ripe with disbelief and Calum begins to laugh too, until they’re both holding their stomachs. 

“Don’t tell, Michael,” Calum finally says and he’s chuckling but it’s dead serious.

Luke smiles. “I wish you hadn’t told me. Better yet, I wish it hadn’t happened.”

“Me too.” The laugh Calum lets out has lost all humor. “But I got a hundred new bucks in my pocket and I’m running low on cigs.”

He finally opens his pack of cigarettes, placing one in the corner of his mouth. He pockets the pack and moves to find his lighter in his other pocket before he stops, letting out a low groan from the back of his throat. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he moans. 

“Left your lighter at home?” Luke asks. 

“Left my fucking lighter at home!” Calum shouts. “Goddammit! Fucking pretended to be a _dog_ tonight and now I’ve left my fucking light—for fuck’s sakes, God hates me, huh? God fucking hates my ass.”

“He does.”

“Aye!” Calum yells out to the corner, risking a step from under the roof and into the rain, brandishing his cigarette for all to see. He gestures the wilting cigarette to all the whores on the street—the two girls across from them and the small gathering a few yards down. “Someone’s got to have a light, huh? Anybody! I need a fucking light over here!”

Luke laughs quietly to himself. 

“Oh, here,” someone calls from across the street, “I got one, buddy.” 

Luke glances to see the figure jogging over to them and his eyes widen. 

New-Kid-Ashton is striding over while pulling a lighter out of his jeans pocket, and he’s absolutely fucking drenched—just like he was that night—his hair pressed flat against his forehead in strips, water running down his face, and his clothes clinging to his body. 

As he gets closer, Luke can make more and more of his features out, but the one that stands out the most is that goddamn smile. It’s wide and shiny and yep, just like Michael said, his dimples are unreal. 

“Hey,” Ashton says; he’s got a smooth voice, chipper and eager-to-please. It’s definitely the sort of voice that a John would want from a whore and Luke pushes himself off the wall, the rain catching more of his face as he tries to get closer to hear more of it. 

Calum doesn’t seem as surprised nor as interested as Luke does, throwing his head back in victory as he sighs, “thank fucking God, c’mere. I’m dying.”

“You forget your light at home again, Cal?” Ashton asks with mirth evident as he holds out the lighter to Calum’s cigarette. 

Calum is all too eager to shield his cigarette from the rain to get it to light. “Here, wait, let’s get it under the roof.”

Ashton agrees and they move to be under the safety of the awning, pressing up next to Luke who—like an idiot—doesn’t say a fucking word. He is too busy staring at Ashton up close, shocked by how hazel his eyes are and the dimples that create grooves in his cheeks. His t-shirt is practically glued to his torso from the rain and Luke suddenly knows why Johns are more desperate on rainy nights. Because, looking at the way Ashton’s shirt clings to his front, showing off the ridges in his stomach and the dips in his hips… Luke would be desperate too. 

“Yes!” Calum cheers as Ashton lights his cigarette and in a rush, he presses it to his lips, closing his eyes as he breathes in smoke, his nostrils flaring with the heavy intake. He exhales and the smoke flows open into the air. “God, yes. Thank you, you beautiful bastard.”

Ashton laughs. “No problem, Cal.”

It’s then that Ashton turns, leaning back against the wall, looking past Calum to Luke who hasn’t said a word. Ashton’s smile doesn’t fall. 

“Hey,” he greets and Luke’s eyes widen, “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“You haven’t,” Calum interjects before Luke can so much as open his mouth. “This is my kid brother, Luke.”

“Brother?” Ashton asks, surprised, and his eyes dart between the two of them. 

“Not really,” Luke butts in, elbowing Calum who grins as he takes a smoke. 

“Only in the way it counts,” Calum says. He reaches out to ruffle Luke’s hair and Luke tries to move away but Calum decides to wrap an arm around his shoulders, trapping him in place. 

Ashton tilts his head. There’s something that flashes in his hazel eyes. “You new, Luke?”

To which Luke can’t help but scoff because, uh, what? New-Kid-Ashton asking if _he’s_ new? That doesn’t seem right. Luke’s been doing this forever. He lives on this corner. Since he left home at seventeen he’s been doing this. And Ashton, who’s been here maybe four weeks has the audacity to ask if he’s new? Yeah, that’s worth a laugh. 

“No,” Luke says and he can’t keep the humor from his voice, “I’m not new.”

Ashton pulls a puzzled expression. “Haven’t seen you on Wednesday’s before.”

“He’s filling in for Mike,” Calum tacks on, taking a puff and blowing it over Luke’s hair. Great. He’s going to smell like smoke. He’s going to be a smokey whore and stink up the next car he gets into. 

“Oh!” Ashton exclaims. “How is he, by the way?”

“He’s good,” Calum answers at the same time Luke says, “he’s the same.”

They share an awkward glance but Ashton doesn’t say anything about it. 

“What even happened to him?” Ashton decides to ask next, cocking a hip out and folding his arms, bumping his side into the brick wall. It’s the wrong thing to say. It’s definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Luke can tell by the way Calum’s mouth twitches and his grip on Luke tightens a smidge. It’s not the sort of thing they discuss. No. What happened to Michael is strictly between him, Calum, and Luke and even they tread on the words like glass. Naturally, it’s common knowledge his leg is broken.

But Calum’s the one he called when it happened. 

Calum’s the one who answered the phone to a sobbing Michael, forcing out through hiccups into a hazy receiver that he was hurt. And Luke’s the one who called the hospital at three in the morning, shaking all over. So no. It’s no one else’s business but theirs. 

Definitely not New-Kid-Ashton’s, no matter how big his smile is or how shiny his hazel eyes are.

“Yeah,” Luke fades out and glances around Ashton to the street; he’s quick to change the subject. “Get anything good tonight? Calum and I were telling war stories.”

Calum sends him a scandalized look, as if to say ‘don’t you dare’ but Luke merely smiles. 

“Tonight, a guy told me I reminded him of his son.”

“Ugh.” Ashton pulls a disgusted expression, his dazzling smile disappearing for the time being while he leans back against the wall, propping his boot up against it to keep himself steady. “I haven’t gotten anything like that.”

“Don’t worry.” Calum snorts smoke. “Looking like that? You will.”

Ashton jerks his head, alarmed expression in place, but he doesn’t say anything as a car comes pulling up to the curb. 

“Here,” Calum says through a grin, nodding his head to the hummer. “This one’s yours. Maybe it’ll bring you back with a good story.”

“Uh, thanks.” Ashton sends a look from the car to Calum before he moves off the wall and back into the rain. He awkwardly salutes the two of them as he backs up. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

Calum waves as Luke and he watch Ashton wander to the car, bending down to the window. He braces his hand on the hood of it and Luke can see his fingers flex. 

Calum laughs again and takes a deep breath of his smoke. 

“ _See you later_ ,” he mimics with a hard laugh. “Yeah. If it brings him back at all.”

***

Luke has a horrible back ache when they get home and he keeps trying to crack it to no avail, pressing his hands into his spine, attempting any sort of reconciliation of the way he used to feel.

“Let me give you a massage,” Calum insists, almost pleading, a hand resting on Luke’s shoulder as they enter the house at a quarter till five, as if steering him in the right direction. The sun will be up in an hour and Luke will be asleep in two. “Please. You look like shit, man. What even happened?”

Luke is holding his hands against his spine like an old man, squinting hard. All he needs to say is, “put his knee in my back” for Calum to understand. They never say anything more than that.

His voice is hard in response. “I’m giving you a massage.”

“Is that a threat?” Luke asks as he makes it to the couch. 

“It definitely sounded like a threat.” Michael comes hobbling out of his bedroom on one crutch, rubbing his heavy eyes. His hair is sticking up in all different directions and Luke watches Calum’s expression instantly soften. Michael doesn’t seem to notice and his smile is balanced goofily on his face. “Was it a threat, Cal?”

“Absolutely.” Calum forces Luke to sit down. “It was a threat.”

He circles to the back of the couch, his fingers already starting to dig into Luke’s shoulders. An unlit cigarette is balanced between his lips and Luke thinks it’s not even about the smoking anymore, it’s just the comfort of having something between his lips he chooses to put there. 

Luke winces and Calum doesn’t apologize.

“Tonight was good then, it seems?” Michael asks, staggering to the sofa where he plops down, abandoning his crutch on the living room carpet with a loud clunk. Obviously, his tone is sarcastic. 

“Oh, it was great,” Luke bites, keeping his eyes squeezed shut as Calum digs into his shoulders. It hurts like a bitch but Luke has gotten enough massages from Calum to know he will be grateful later. “A guy said I reminded him of his son.”

Michael grumbles. “I hate when they do that. D’you need some ice or something for your back, Luke?”

He’s quick to shake his head. “M’alright. Thanks though.”

For a physical representation, he reaches out to pat Michael’s good knee.

“Y’know—” He wants to pull the conversation from himself— “We talked to Ashton tonight.”

Michael smirks. “Did you now? Is he as hot up close?”

Luke’s cheeks grow warm for no reason. 

“Stop that,” Calum laughs and he shoves Michael in the chest, forcing him to lay back against the arm of the couch. There’s a split second when Michael’s eyes darken and Luke really hates them because he knows what’s going to happen. He knows the look and the breath that Michael lets out and the smirk that tugs at Calum’s mouth, the cigarette balanced between round lips.

But it’s alright. Luke thinks they deserve a moment to themselves. So, before Calum can protest, Luke forces himself from the couch. He pretends his back isn’t crying out in longing for a comfortable place to lie down. 

“What’re you doing?” Calum asks, detracting his touch from Michael who remains laying against the arm of the couch. 

“I think I need to walk it off,” Luke lies. 

“Are you sure?” Calum frowns at the same time Michael blurts cheerfully, “I think that’s a great idea!”

And Luke can see the way he’s fidgeting on the couch to get comfortable and he lets out a snort. He grunts, because he knows Michael knows he knows, “you’re such a slut, Clifford.”

“You’re one to talk,” Michael snaps back but he’s grinning from ear to ear. 

Calum pops him in the back of the head good-naturedly and Luke bids them a gentle goodbye. They promise to see each other soon and Calum doesn’t mimic him like he mimicked Ashton. He wouldn’t do that. There’s too much at stake when it’s one of them on the line. Not that Luke is going to get into any trouble. 

He’s only going for a walk.

***

All Luke can think on Sunday night is what songs he’s going to sing on Tuesday. The stress has begun and he can’t stop drumming his fingers against his arms or chewing at his lips or playing with the strings of his sleeve.

Calum knows what he’s worrying about, so he chuckles to himself and proposes, “what about an original?”

Luke gasps hard. “Absolutely not. Nope. None of my songs are ready for that. Are you insane?”

Calum chortles. “Apparently so.”

Luke is biting his bottom lip and Calum gives him a sweet glance. “Whatever you do will be good, Lu. Don’t kill yourself worrying.”

He won’t. Or, he’ll try not to anyway. 

“Hey—” Calum points across the street— “There’s your lover-boy, over there.”

Luke trails the point with his eyes to Ashton, of course, who is being let out of a bulky looking truck. He jumps out with ease, rectifying his hair which—even from a distance—looks disheveled and straightens his shirt and brushes off his pants. He blows the car a kiss as it drives away.

Fuck. 

Luke watches him sway off down the street, in search of his next pay-day, like an animal on the prowl and Luke honestly can’t believe he’s supposed to be the prey. 

“Ask him what his favorite songs are,” Calum teases, bumping their shoulders together. “Maybe he has some good love songs in mind. For instance, _Let’s Get it On_.”

Luke bares his teeth at Calum in a glare. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“Here, don’t worry.” Calum ignores him. “I’ll ask.”

Without warning, Calum cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a shout across the street. 

“Aye! Ash! Ashton!”

Luke lets out a silent wail, trying to smack Calum to get him to shut up but of course the moment he looks across the street, Ashton is all ears, perking up in attention. 

“Yeah?” he yells back.

“What’s your favorite love song!” Calum shouts and Luke knows he has to be the color of blood by now. 

“Love song?” Ashton calls back. “I dunno. _Dreams_ probably!”

Well, it seems like he does know because he answered that pretty damn fast. 

“By Fleetwood Mac?” Calum asks, his hands still cupping his mouth so his voice carries. The other people on the street are glaring at him, clearly unamused. 

“Yeah, that one!” Ashton’s laugh carries across the street and it really is a giggle, isn’t it? It sounds so young. 

“Huh.” Calum drops his hands to his sides and Ashton continues the way he was originally going, tucking his hands into his pockets, and grinning. “Interesting.”

“What is?” Luke asks, turning his way.

“Nothing,” Calum says with a shrug. “It’s just a shitty love song s’all.”

***

Monday night, before work, Luke sits out on their fire escape and strums his guitar for no one but himself. Calum and Michael are inside, bundled up together on the couch and if Luke looks over his shoulder through the window, he can see them trading kisses.

He has his phone open to Youtube, balanced on his knee, and _Dreams_ by Fleetwood Mac is playing. It’s definitely an interesting choice for a favorite love song. 

Luke’s is probably _Resolution_ by Matt Corby. That’s a love song. That’s a song about actually loving someone. What is Dreams about? Luke’s listened to the song about four times now, and it’s a good song, for sure. But it’s depressing as hell. 

_It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams / And have you any dreams you'd like to sell? / Dreams of loneliness._

It sort of sounds like a breakup song. But, for some reason, Luke feels like the singer is breaking up with herself. 

It’s a pretty song though, no doubt about it. If he knew how to play it, or could learn in a night, he’d perform it tomorrow. But he doesn’t have the time so he sticks with his original playlist of Frank Ocean and Matt Corby while he strums crudely along to _Dreams_ on his fire escape. 

Calum comes outside about thirty minutes later and tells him it’s time for work. His hair is rumpled, his cheeks are rosy red, and he has a lopsided smile on his face that makes his face rounder, younger. His v-neck is pushed to one side and Luke can see the fresh hickey hiding on his collarbone. 

He’s happy it’s there. He knows the touch meant something.

***

Calum isn’t smiling by the end of the night and his meaningful touch has been lost in marks and scratches of worthless fingers, claiming what’s not theirs to have.

Luke pats him on the back while they walk up the stairs to their apartment. He promises, “not forever.”

And while Calum nods in agreement, Luke feels like maybe it isn’t the truth anymore.

***

Tuesday afternoon and Luke is sitting on a shitty stool on a shitty stage strumming shitty strings on his shitty guitar. He’s got ten minutes for sound check so he’s doing his best but for some reason his hands won’t stop shaking.

How is he supposed to make it out of here and become a musician if he can’t even play without wanting to vomit on himself? Fuck his mind and his fingers and his shitty stage. But his guitar is making sound and he leans into the microphone, doing a slightly pitchy run to make sure he can hear himself. And, sure enough he can. 

So his soundcheck is done and he gets to do his favorite part which is mumbling into the microphone, “hey, everyone. M’names Luke. I’ll be singing a couple songs for you today if you don’t mind.”

He’s waiting for the day someone shouts back at him that they do mind. But today, no one does and so he can start his set with Frank Ocean. 

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s the only person in the world. There’s no one else but him and his guitar. And, honestly, that’s all he’s ever needed. It’s all he’s ever wanted. 

When he finishes his first song, the twelve or so people in the audience clap and he tries not to smile too wide. 

“Thanks,” he settles for and heads right into the next song. And then the next two, each time closing his eyes and pretending the rest of the world has washed away and his body is clean again while he plays. 

It’s after the fourth song that he reaches for his water bottle, finally letting his eyes wander to the crowd which is surprisingly not smaller than when he started. 

“Alright, everybody. This is going pretty good! This next song is uh—”

He takes a gentle sip as he straightens up again, his eyes panning to the bar. And he promptly chokes on his sip of water. 

The bartender is leaning over the counter with his arms crossed, smiling at Luke innocently and that would be all well and good if the bartender didn’t have hazel eyes and incredible dimples. Ashton realizes then that Luke sees him and he raises a hand up to wiggle his fingers in a wave and mouth a simple, ‘hey.’

Luke’s cheeks have without a doubt flushed a deep pink. He forces himself to swallow down his water before shakily putting the bottle back on the floor. 

“This next song,” he tries again, getting a steady grip on his guitar once more. “Is uh—”

Ashton has cocked his head and Luke is so acutely aware of his presence now. 

“It’s called _Dreams_ , by Fleetwood Mac. I think some of you may know it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Ashton’s mouth fall open and that is enough to make him smile as he breathes into the microphone. He doesn’t really know how to play the song fully but instinct has kicked in and he imagines sitting on the fire escape again, listening to the traffic and shouting below. Glancing over his shoulder to see Michael and Calum on the couch sharing touches that have purpose. 

Luke doesn’t have anyone to touch like that so he strums his guitar with meaning and figures it’s the same. 

When he strums the last chord, the audience claps again and he stands up, letting out a quick, “thanks so much,” before he hurries off the stage and onto the wooden bar floor. 

An older woman compliments his voice as he passes and he nervously thanks her as he crosses the room, holding the neck of his guitar in his fist, to the bar. 

Ashton looks like he’s been waiting for Luke to come over, a rag thrown over one of his shoulders, his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, head cocked to one side. Luke hasn’t properly seen him yet when it isn’t raining and dry-Ashton is certainly a contrast to soaked-Ashton. 

His tan hair is fluffed into curls and he looks so soft wrapped in a nice long-sleeved shirt and jeans, holding the rag with one hand, his other braced on the bar top as Luke closes in. 

His smile is dazzling when Luke slides onto a bar stool, leaning his guitar against the base of his chair. He asks, “ _Dreams_ , huh?”

Luke shifts. “I mean…”

“Good suggestion,” Ashton says, hazel eyes fixed on Luke, “whoever gave it to you.”

Luke blinks up at him. He wets his lips. “Yeah. It was.”

“So—” Ashton moves back— “What’d you drink, Luke?”

“Oh, no.” Luke straightens up. “I can’t.”

Ashton frowns, turning back to the counter. He asks, sounding curious, “you sober?”

“What?” Luke shakes his head and lets out a quiet chuckle. “No, I uh, I’m not legal. I’m nineteen.”

Ashton’s eyes widen and he makes an ‘o’ with his mouth, stumbling over his next words. “Oh, wow, okay. I thought… Damn.”

Luke wonders why he looks so sad all of sudden but he doesn’t question it. “I’ll buy a coke from you though, unless that’s too out of your wheelhouse.”

Ashton’s grin fixes itself back into place. “I think I can manage that.”

He turns away and starts busying himself with getting a glass for Luke from the shelf. Luke watches the way his shirt stretches over his back when he bends over and the veins in his forearms stick out when he flexes to reach for things. He’s not short, but he’s shorter than Luke. 

“I didn’t know you were a bartender,” Luke says, watching his arms move. 

Ashton laughs to himself. “Well, of course you didn’t. That’d be the side effect of not knowing me at all.”

Luke can’t stop the embarrassed blush that spreads down his neck and he tries not to sink to the floor in shame. 

Ashton doesn’t seem to notice, however, and he carries on to say, “I didn’t know you were a musician.”

Luke is fast to respond, “guess that’s the side effect of not knowing me at all.”

Ashton turns around with a glass of coke, pushing it across the bar top to Luke. He grins and gives Luke a charming glance. “Real shame, huh? That we don’t know each other.”

Luke doesn’t really know what to say to that and he’s lucky he doesn’t have to think about it because Ashton continues for him, as though he’s more talking to a close friend than to Luke, just another wet whore he happens to share a corner with. 

“You were good up there.” Ashton nods his head to the stage and reaches under the bar before coming up with a straw which he places in Luke’s coke himself, turning it towards him. Luke doesn’t even think as he lowers to take a light sip, Ashton’s hand moving away from his drink, his fingers brushing the bottom of Luke’s chin as he does. 

“I don’t only do covers,” Luke feels the need to say, pulling back as heat spreads up his cheeks again, “I write original stuff too.”

“Do you?” Ashton tilts his head in interest. “Any good?”

“I mean they’re…” Luke laughs. “I’d be sort of a prick to say they’re good, wouldn’t I?”

Ashton shakes his head as he retrieves a glass from under the counter. “No. Not if they’re good.”

“Well, how do I know they’re good if _I_ wrote them?” Luke asks, frowning. “I think I’m a bit biased.”

Ashton shrugs, cleaning out a glass. “When they’re good, you’ll know they’re good, whether they’re yours or not.”

That’s a good answer, Luke thinks, and he says as much in a hum while he takes another longer sip of his coke, staring up at Ashton through his eyelashes. Ashton doesn’t remove his eyes, grinning this beautiful smile at him and Luke doesn’t know where the sudden confidence comes from but he removes himself from the coke and asks, “when’s your break?”

Ashton pulls the rag off his shoulder. “You want it to be now?”

And yes, absolutely Luke does, so he nods. 

“Hey, Eddie!” Ashton calls over his shoulder to the other guy at the bar. “I’m taking five, alright?” 

Eddie grunts in response which Luke assumes is an ‘okay’ and with that, Ashton trails from around the bar and walks up next to him. 

“Here,” he says, “bring your coke and I’ll grab your guitar.”

Usually Luke would protest to someone handling his baby but Ashton picks it up smoothly, slinging the strap around his shoulders and puts his fingers on the neck and body like he knows that’s how they’re supposed to go. 

“You play?” Luke asks curiously as he slides off the barstool, coke in hand. He takes small sips.

“Used to,” is Ashton’s answer; his fingers glide over the strings but he doesn’t make a sound as they walk across the bar floor. “Where’re we going?”

Luke literally has no plans but he says, “on a walk.”

Ashton smiles sideways at him as they make it out the door and into the fresh air. The honk of traffic greets them as they start down the sidewalk, away from the bar, their shoes making dull thuds on the pavement.

“What days do you work at the bar?” Luke asks, holding his coke to his lips. 

“Everyday but Saturday,” Ashton answers and Luke finds it funny that he is miming playing the guitar but not actually playing anything. “Afternoons on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays. Nights every other day. And y’know, when Eddie calls me in, I come in.”

“Oh.” Luke nods to himself, taking a sip. “So that’s why you only hook Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

Ashton glances at him in surprise, his smile faltering but he manages to push it back into place a second later. “Yeah. That’s why.”

“So you’re a real _bartender_.” Luke feels it out on his tongue. 

“So you’re a real musician,” Ashton returns, his smile turning more natural.

“And a whore, of course,” Luke adds, because he’s used to making those jokes with Calum. He probably should have realized Ashton—who he doesn’t even know yet—wouldn’t like that. The moment after he says it, his eyes pop a bit and he almost rushes out an apology but Ashton is speaking before he gets the chance. 

Ashton walks with so much confidence. “But mostly you’re an artist.”

Luke watches him strum soundlessly at the guitar. His lips soften towards a simper. He’s never been called an artist before. “Yeah… Mostly.” 

“Is that what you want to do when you’re older?” Ashton asks. “Be a musician?”

It’s all Luke has ever dreamed of. It’s why he left home at seventeen. It’s why he’s done everything he’s ever done. He lives music, breathes it deeper than he will ever breathe air. It’s the only thing he can see himself doing forever. It’s the only thing that makes him happy anymore.

So he nods sharply and says, “it’s the dream.”

“I thought I wanted to be a musician for a while,” Ashton says and it sounds more to himself than to Luke as he bobs his head on his shoulders, directing his hazel eyes to the sky as he speaks. “But, y’know, had to be practical.”

Luke doesn’t like that so much. “Because prostitution is so practical?” 

Ashton sends him a sideways glance and a smirk tugs barely at his lips. He doesn’t seem offended by the word, or that Luke has said it aloud. It seems he doesn’t have the same rules about unspoken things. “It’s easier.”

That doesn’t make much sense to Luke for a number of reasons. Hooking has never felt _easy_ to him. In fact, it’s been one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do next to coming out to his family. It makes his body sore and his tongue sour and his heart plummet. He hates it. He hates it more than he will ever hate anything else in the world. But. 

“It pays well,” Luke says, “I’ll give you that.”

“Definitely better than bartending and music,” Ashton laughs and while the next words are said brightly, they make Luke deflate. “Thing I’m best at, anyhow.”

“Well, you’ve only been doing it like a month,” Luke reasons and he doesn’t want to tell Ashton that he hasn’t experienced the bad yet nor has he experienced the worst but that’s exactly what he’s thinking. Ashton must be getting nice Johns, real bread-and-butter guys who don't want anything out of the ordinary, just a simple cum and dump. He must be getting the best customers on the block because there’s no way he’d be talking so highly about prostitution if he was getting the sort of Johns Calum and Luke got. 

Ashton chuckles. There’s a layer to his voice Luke can’t figure out. Like there’s a secret he’s been left out of. “Little longer than that.”

Doesn’t make sense though. Calum said he started right before Michael broke his leg. Luke starts to say as much but Ashton has started talking again, changing the subject. 

“So why weren’t Calum and Michael here to see you?” He picks at the guitar’s strings and this time they let out a feeble sound. “They missed a hell of a show.”

Luke rolls his eyes but the compliment doesn’t go unnoticed. “Because they want time to fuck alone.”

Ashton barks a laugh before following up, “so, are they together? Like, genuinely?”

And, sure, Calum and Michael don’t label it but Luke knows the truth so he answers, “yeah, they are.”

“Huh.” Ashton hums and strums. “Y’know, I always wonder what that’s like.”

“What what’s like?” Luke wonders.

Ashton shrugs his shoulders. “Being with someone in our… line of work. I mean, how do you differentiate between them and the job? Do you not feel cheated on? I always wonder how people make it work.”

Luke knows the difference immediately. It’s about the touches. It’s about the touches that mean things versus the touches that don’t, and it’s not hard to distinguish. Those are two completely different things, being with someone you love and being with someone on the job. Those aren’t even in the same world or body. 

Luke is ready to tell that to Ashton, to explain the difference in detail, but Ashton has his eyes on his watch and he says, “oh shit, I’m sorry, Luke. I gotta go.”

Their five minutes are up it seems. It felt like seconds. 

Ashton pulls Luke’s guitar from around his shoulders and passes it back to Luke who takes the neck carefully in one hand. 

“It was nice talking to you,” Ashton says, smiling cheerfully. “We’ll do it again soon, okay?”

Much to Luke’s surprise, Ashton reaches out and grips him on the shoulder as a form of goodbye. He stiffens instantly at the contact. No one touches Luke without wanting something from his body other than Calum and Michael. 

Ashton’s touch isn’t malicious. It’s firm but gentle and he winks when he lets go. Next, he gives a gentle wave as he turns back down the street towards the bar, jogging to get back to work on time. 

Luke watches him go, dumbfounded, still holding his glass of coke in one hand and his guitar in the other. 

He doesn’t know _what_ that touch meant.

***

That night it doesn’t rain and Calum is all smiles. Of course he would be though, he’s spent the last two hours with Michael, alone in the house. Able to do whatever they want. It’s no wonder he’s grinning like an idiot. Luke would be grinning too if he just had a good fuck. Luke hasn’t had a good fuck in about two years. He’s beginning to doubt there are any.

At this point though, Luke doesn’t want a good fuck. He really just wants a good kiss. Maybe only a good hug, or a pat on the shoulder. Just a touch that means something.

“You two seriously need to make it official already,” Luke says, surveying the street. 

“Make what official?” Calum asks, all innocent. 

Luke stares at him, exasperated. “You and Mike are dating, you get that right?”

Calum lets out a shocked scoff, stumbling over his words as he tries to argue, “n-no we’re not. We’re not _together_. I mean we’re together but we’re not like _together_ -together. No.”

“Cal,” Luke reasons in a deadpan, “you are the only two who don’t know you’re together. I know you love him.”

“Of course I love him.” Calum rubs the back of his neck. “He’s my best friend. I love you too.”

“I think, tonight, you should tell him that you love him. I know you want to be with him. _Together_ together.” Luke glances down the street at the car that is starting to slow down. “No harm in trying.”

Calum’s voice hitches. “There’s a lot of harm in trying, actually.”

“I got this one,” Luke says as the car comes to a stop. He smiles over his shoulder at Calum as he starts to walk away. “Don’t worry. You mean something to him too.”

Calum doesn’t say anything back, only watches Luke walk away with his arms hanging limply by his sides and his dark eyes wide. He looks impossibly young on the street corner in his hoodie and skin-tight jeans, love on the brain. 

He’ll sell well tonight.

***

That night, when Calum confesses in the middle of their living room that he wants to be with Michael in a more than ‘friends that fuck’ way, Michael pretends like he thought they already were dating.

Luke can see in his green eyes, however, that he’s never been so surprised in his life as when Calum says—eyes on the floor at his shoes— “I love you.” He’s never looked so hurt before either, and yet it’s the most exquisite hurt Luke has ever seen. 

He wants to be hurt like that. 

And that night, when Calum is tucked in bed, snoring loud enough that Luke can hear it at the kitchen table where he is reading through his song journal, Michael limps over to him and asks, voice in a hiss, “did you put him up to this?”

“I nudged him in the right direction,” Luke answers, shutting his book so Michael can’t see the songs he is writing about broken legs and meaningless touches. 

“I think I love him too y’know,” Michael whispers between them, into the static of the night, “and not like… I mean, in the real way. Like I genuinely think that I’m in love with him.”

There’s fear in his eyes and the hurt that lines green irises is one Luke could write a hundred songs about.

Luke smiles up at him. “I know you do, Mike and I wouldn’t worry about it. He loves you too. He said as much, right?”

Luke’s never seen Michael blush before but he does, ducking his head so his eyes land on his cast. He picks at his sleeve as he mumbles, “thanks, Lukey.”

When he leaves to go sleep in bed with Calum, Luke looks down at his song journal and wonders what it’s like to be hurt so beautifully.

***

Calum is gone twenty minutes into the night, disappearing into the passenger seat of a silver sedan. Luke had two alley blowjobs and now he’s back where he always is, the brick wall, head leaned back and his eyes closed. Music is thrumming in his veins but there’s none playing out loud.

“Hey there.”

Luke opens his eyes to find Ashton walking towards him, sleeveless shirt in place, hands tucked into his pockets. He walks like he always knows where he’s going. Luke’s jealous. He always feels so lost. 

“Hey,” Luke replies, pulling himself off the wall, “what’s up?”

“Nothing.” Ashton’s grin is bright. “Living the dream per usual. Got two guys tonight so far.”

“How much’ve you made?” Luke asks, expecting a mundane number. 

When Ashton says “eight hundred” nonchalantly with a shrug, Luke’s eyes bug out of his head. 

“Eight _hundred_!” he squeaks out. “From two guys? What the fuck are you doing for them?”

Ashton laughs. “The same things you’re doing.”

But there’s no way that’s true. Luke and Ashton both know that. Luke thinks that surely Ashton is lying because there’s no way a guy is going to pay four hundred dollars for a simple fuck; there’s got to be something more at play there. He doesn’t ask though. It’s only the second time he and Ashton are talking after all, so he knows he probably shouldn’t push his luck and push Ashton away. 

“You got any shows coming up soon?” Ashton asks. 

“Not that I know of,” Luke answers, “why?”

Ashton snickers like Luke has said something funny. “Because I wanna come watch one when I’m not pouring beer.”

Maybe Luke’s heart lurches in his chest at that. Maybe just a little. 

“Here—” Ashton starts rummaging in his pocket— “I meant to give you this yesterday.”

He pulls out a napkin—assumingly from the bar last night—and hands it over to Luke, who takes it in absolute confusion. There’s a messy jumble of numbers scrawled in pen across the paper. Luke blinks as he reads them over. 

“Is this your phone number?” he asks, bewildered. 

“No, it’s Beyonce’s—” Ashton rolls his eyes— “Yes, of course it’s my number. Why would I give you someone else’s number?”

“Why would you give me _yours_?” Luke finds himself blurting.

There’s a split second where Ashton looks partially hurt. “Because I want you to have it. And when people want to talk to someone, they give out numbers, don’t they? That’s something us humans do?”

“I’m not human,” Luke answers, “I wouldn’t know.”

Ashton laughs and it’s that beautiful giggle he has uniquely for him and that is persuasive enough for Luke to slip the napkin into his back pocket. 

“Oop, here’s my ride.” 

Ashton cranes his neck down the street and Luke turns to see a sleek black car with tinted windows come rolling up. His blood runs colder in his veins. 

“Talk later, Luke. Tell me when you’ve got a show coming up!” Ashton calls as he starts toward the car and Luke watches him go, his skin prickling all over as the car doesn’t even roll down its windows, merely swings the door open. Ashton doesn’t wait a split second before he slips inside. His smile is so practiced and Luke starts to wonder if it's as happy as he thought it was. 

The door closes behind him and Luke can’t make out his shape through the window.

***

**Luke** (12:02):  
hey. just checking to make sure you survived the night.

 **Ashton** (12:02):  
I did... thank you for the concern, mystery-number. Nice to know someone cares.

 **Luke** (12:03):  
It’s Luke 

**Ashton** (12:03):  
Oh hey! Y’know, I thought you threw my napkin away for sure.

 **Luke** (12:04):  
Oh i totally did, it’s in a trashcan somewhere downtown

 **ASHTON** (12:05):  
What! You threw it away! What if a homeless man finds it and starts texting me?

 **Luke** (12:05):  
Then you’ll have a new friend

 **Ashton** (12:06):  
I don’t want a homeless man friend.

 **Luke** (12:06):  
You can’t be picky with your friends, ur a whore

 **Ashton** (12:07):  
Even whores can be picky with their friends

 **Luke** (12:07):  
Well obviously if you want to be friends with me, you’re not very picky

 **Ashton** : (12:08):  
Au contraire. You were definitely a picky choice.

 **Luke** (12:08):  
was i?

 **Ashton** (12:08):  
Absolutely. But I think it was a good decision.

 **Luke** (12:09):  
I think you’ll regret it

 **Ashton** (12:10):  
I don’t think I will.

***

“I have never seen you text this much in your life,” Calum says from the other side of the couch, arms wrapped around Michael who is invested in a video game on the T.V., watching as Luke types away on his phone.

“Who are you even talking to?” Michael asks from Calum’s lap. “We’re your only friends.”

“Ashton,” Luke replies without looking up. 

**Ashton** (3:04):  
Remind me not to buy dior again. I smell too good to be a hooker.

Michael and Calum snap their heads to the side, Michael’s game character letting out an animatronic shout as it dies. In unison they exclaim, “ _Ashton_?”

“Like smiley Ashton?” Calum asks.

“Like giggly, hot as hell, Ashton?” Michael adds.

Luke laughs as he turns his phone off, putting it into his pocket while he looks at the two of them. “Yeah, hazel eyes Ashton.”

Michael and Calum both purr in response like their house cats and Luke is their owner giving them tuna. Michael is wearing a devilish smirk. “Please tell me he’s sent you nudes already. How big is it?”

“Gotta be over six inches,” Calum adds. “We may be looking at a ten inch hero.”

Luke glares at them. “It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then?” Calum wants to know; his eyes are hooded and it’s like he’s asking some sort of sensual question. But there’s certainly nothing sensual about Luke and Ashton’s friendship. Sure, Ashton’s attractive as all hell, Luke will never argue with that fact, but they’re not anything other than friends. Besides, even if Luke wanted that, he’s never been in a relationship before. Not ever. And Ashton’s this mature, twenty-one year old who works as a bartender and isn’t afraid of cars with tinted windows. Like he would want someone like Luke. 

“We’re friends,” Luke explains to Calum, directing his eyes to his lap, where his hands are resting, his fingers playing with themselves awkwardly. “That’s it.”

“But you _would_ hit that, right?” Michael asks to which Calum pinches him in the ribs for. “Ow! Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!”

Luke shakes his head with a laugh but his brain is answering for him, _yes. Yeah, sure, I’d hit that._.

***

Monday night isn’t a tough one, it’s a normal one which means there’s a dull ache in Luke’s body at the end of the night.

Calum says—and it’s more to the night and the stars than it is to Luke— “I’m gonna ask Mike on a date.”

When Luke doesn’t say anything, Calum turns to him and gives an exasperated look. As though this should be very important news and Luke should have a worthwhile reaction. But he doesn’t, so he shrugs with a short laugh and says, “what’d you want me to say? That I’m proud of you?”

“It’s a big deal!” Calum insists. 

“Is it?” Luke furrows his brow. “You’ve been together for like… months now.”

Longer than that. Calum and Michael started their tumultuous love affair maybe two months after Calum first moved in with them and that was about a year and a half ago. They’ve been together for a long, long time, so the idea of Calum thinking ‘a date’ is a big deal, or some sort of stepping stone in their relationship, makes Luke want to laugh. 

“But not _officially_.” Calum raises a finger. “We’re _officially_ together now but we’re not officially boyfriends and we’re not officially dating—”

Luke throws his head back. “You make everything so much more complicated than it needs to be.”

“So I’m gonna ask him on a date,” Calum continues, ignoring Luke, “and it’s gonna be like a real one, y’know, where it’s just me and him and we dress all nice and flirt with each other and kick each other beneath the table—except I can’t kick him because his leg is broken—and I pay for his meal. The whole nine. I’m gonna be a fuckin’ romantic, is what I’m gonna be.” 

Luke gives him a fond look, shaking his head as a smirk works its way onto his face. “Are you now?”

“What?” Calum snaps his head to the side. “Do you think I can’t be?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Not out loud but you said it with that bitchass face of yours.” Calum is glaring now. “I can be romantic. I totally can be. I mean, I never have been before…” He swallows thickly. “But I’ll learn to be.”

There’s a beat where Calum doesn’t do anything except stare at his shoelaces. 

He whispers a panicked, “fuck” and Luke bursts into laughter. 

Calum hits him in the back of the head.

“Stop it! This is serious!” He complains. “I need to make Michael love me, dammit.”

Luke doesn’t say anything but he thinks to himself that Calum doesn’t need to worry about making Michael love him, because he already does. And then he gets this odd sort of lump in his throat because he wonders when someone will ever need to make _him_ love them.

“How about Wednesday?” Calum proposes. “Before work? I could take him out to dinner, drop him off, and head to work.”

“Ah yes.” Luke snickers. “Nothing says romance like, ‘thanks for a great night sweetie, now it’s time for me to fondle some other guys balls for 10.99’ a nut.”

“Shut up!” Calum laughs too though and Luke merely smiles at him. 

He says, “Just make sure you give him some great head before you leave so he won’t be jealous.”

Calum shakes his head. “I want to make him feel loved, not horny.”

“It’s _Michael_ ,” Luke insists, “the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Will you be okay alone on Wednesday?” Calum asks. “If I ask him out?”

Luke shrugs and pockets his hands. “Of course not. I’ll watch a movie or something. Play guitar. Write a song. I’ll be productive.” 

“Okay.” Calum nods to himself. “Awesome. Wednesday it is.”

***

Luke doesn’t know what conversation happened between his fingers and his brain but he swears he wasn’t a part of it because there’s no way he actually just texted Ashton to come over on Wednesday afternoon to hang out between when his shift at the bar is over and when they have to be on the street. He didn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that.

Why did he do that?

He’s staring down at his phone and he’s about 99% sure he didn’t actually send that message, some sort of ghost did. 

**Luke** (2:00):  
i have a show coming on Wednesday. 1540 Odd St. 5:00

He keeps staring at it, waiting for it to vanish. But it doesn’t. And he’s so busy staring that when his phone beeps with the reply, he drops it in shock.

 **Ashton** (2:06):  
Idk the address. is that a bar?

 **Luke** (2:07):  
It’s my place.

There’s no way he pressed send on that message. There’s literally no way. 

**Ashton** (2:07):  
ur inviting me to your house? To listen to you? Play guitar?

 **Luke** (2:08):  
Yes. this is true.

 **Ashton** (2:08):  
cool. i’ll bring snacks.

Luke lets out the hardest sigh he thinks he’s ever exhaled. And yet, his chest still feels full.

***

Luke is home alone on Wednesday because Michael and Calum have gone on their ‘date’ which really isn’t a date, it’s just an afternoon movie, which they have done a hundred times before. Luke doesn’t know what makes this more special than every other time they’ve hung out but apparently because it’s been titled a ‘date’ it is sacred.

He’s happy for them, either way. And yet, he’s also heinously jealous. 

So he’s sitting on the couch, dressed in his nicest jeans—he doesn’t know why he’s dressed nice actually; what persuaded him to present himself better than usual—and he smells like Calum’s cologne. 

He probably shouldn’t have dressed so nicely, now that he’s thinking about it, because that may give Ashton the wrong idea. Not that there’s a _right_ idea of what tonight is. All they’re going to do is play some guitar and maybe have a conversion. Nothing worth looking nice over and yet Luke keeps checking the mirror to make sure his hair isn’t parted wrong.

When there’s a knock at the door, Luke practically catapults himself off the couch. He doesn’t know why he feels so on edge. Or why his hands are shaking when he opens the door. Or why he is shocked to see Ashton, even though he knew it was going to be Ashton. 

It’s something about those hazel eyes and that beaming smile that is surprising every time. 

Ashton is dry, wearing one of those sleeveless shirts he sports every time Luke’s seen him on the corner. In his right hand, he’s holding the biggest bottle of grape juice Luke has ever seen. 

Luke finds his finger pointing at the container, and his mouth asking, “what the fuck is that?”

“Oh.” Ashton glances down as though he had forgotten what he was holding before he raises it up beside his face to show it off better. He grins brightly as he says, “it’s wine.”

Luke lets out a sharp, shocked laugh. “That is grape juice.”

“The darkest red they had,” Ashton announces in an accent as he moves past Luke into the apartment, holding the bottle high. 

“Who had?” Luke shuts the door behind him. “K-mart?”

“It’s wine!” Ashton argues, turning around so he faces Luke standing in the center of the living room. It’s funny to Luke how well Ashton goes with his furniture. “You said you were underage, so this is what we get. Stop ruining the fantasy.”

“I didn’t realize there _was_ a fantasy.” Luke walks past Ashton into their tiny kitchen so he can retrieve two glasses. His nerves are buzzing just a bit and he wishes they really did have alcohol. He needs something to calm him down. 

“There’s always a fantasy,” Ashton replies when Luke holds a glass out to him, unscrewing the cap of his juice and filling the glass up halfway. 

“You can fill it more than that,” Luke says, looking down at the red liquid. 

“No, I can’t.” Ashton starts half-filling the other glass. “You don’t do that with wine.”

Luke shakes his head and hacks out another laugh as Ashton takes his respective glass. 

“Cheers,” Ashton says in a dramatic slur. “To us.” 

He clicks their cheap glasses of grape juice together and Luke can’t seem to stop wheezing. He manages through his laughter, “to us.”

They take a soft sip together. 

“Mmm.” Luke hums, swirling the glass. “A lovely, earthy taste to it.”

“It would go well with some camembert cheese,” Ashton agrees and his smile is fucking shimmering. His teeth aren’t straight so his smile comes off as crooked but that makes Luke love it more, how goofy and genuine it is. 

“Sorry,” Luke says and he moves to the windowsill, twirling his glass in one hand, “I don’t have any.”

“That’s alright.” Ashton sets his bottle of grape juice next to the couch and follows Luke to the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke notices that Ashton doesn’t attempt to look around or inspect his new surroundings, not even sending so much as a glance out the window. His hazel eyes stay trained on Luke. “I was kidding.”

There’s this beat where Ashton arrives at the window, propping his hip against the wall and leaning his head against it so his curls press flat to the paint and one of his arms wrap around his stomach while the other holds his ‘wine’ up towards his lips. He’s sort of beautiful, if Luke thinks about it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think about it. 

“So.” Ashton starts and his grin tugs wider at his lips. “It’s your night, big guy, you got anything planned? I was told there’d be a show.”

Luke straightens, realizing he’s actually supposed to entertain; he’s invited Ashton over and now he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do now thtat he’s actually here. Luke didn’t think that far in. 

“Oh!” he exclaims softly. “I’ll get my guitar.”

Ashton laughs as Luke scurries toward his bedroom to retrieve the instrument. He hears Ashton calling after him, “you don’t have to!”

“Well what else would we do?” Luke returns with his guitar, holding it to himself protectively. “I promised a show.”

Ashton raises his hands in defense. “Well if you insist.”

“Here.” Luke looks around. “The acoustics aren’t good in here.”

Ashton snorts. “The _acoustics_.”

Luke ignores him and moves back to the window, pushing it open. “C’mon, follow me.”

“What?” Ashton’s smile fades into surprise. “Out the window?”

“Onto the fire escape,” Luke replies like it should be common sense as he clambers out the window and onto the metal landing, his shoes making sharp clicks as he walks across it, moving to sit cross legged on the wiring. 

Ashton carefully pokes his head out the window, looking around at the other buildings and finally to Luke sitting on the awning, smiling up at him. Ashton snorts. “Isn’t this a fire hazard or something?”

“Who cares,” Luke says, nodding his head for Ashton to join him, “it sounds better out here.”

And it does. He’s always thought it has. Because now it’s not the static of silence with his guitar strumming out of pitch atop the quiet. On the fire escape, you can hear the drum of footsteps, shouts of lovers and of enemies below. The wind blowing through your hair; you can hear cars bustling to places you don’t get to understand. You get to smell smoke, and sweat, and feel the breeze in your hair and taste life on your tongue. 

Ashton gives him a funny look as he finally climbs out the window onto the fire escape as well. He’s still holding his grape juice in one hand as he sits down in front of Luke, he clasps the glass with both hands, holding it to his chest. 

“Why do you like playing out here?” Ashton asks and he watches as Luke situates his guitar correctly. 

“I like playing to the world,” Luke answers as he strums a couple chords, “what’s the point of playing to silence?”

“Comfort,” Ashton replies without missing a beat. His beautiful smile is back. “But I guess nothing about art _should_ be comfortable.”

Luke shakes his head and begins to fiddle out a tune with his fingers. “You’re absolutely right.”

Before he knows it, he’s halfway through the first song and Ashton is smiling at him fondly against the rim of his glass as he hums along to the beat, drumming a hand on one of his thighs, and sipping his faux wine.

***

Calum announces that night on the street while they huddle against the brick wall, “it’s gonna be a weekly thing.”

He came home from his ‘date’ with Michael grinning like an idiot, all dazed looks and lovesick laughter, telling Luke he’s never been so happy in his entire life. Which is sweet. Luke is happy about that. Calum and Michael are his best friends in the world and he wants nothing more than for them to be happy, and it’s even better they can find that in each other. 

It makes Luke jealous as all hell, sure, but he’s happy for them. 

“Date night,” Calum continues, pulling at his collar, “every Wednesday afternoon. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” Luke answers, and it’s the truth, “I like seeing you happy.”

Calum beams. “I like being happy.”

And there’s this way he says it; as though this is a new emotion to him, like he never has been before.

***

**Luke** (4:36):  
wednesday is date night

 **Ashton** (4:38):  
I always thought of Friday as being more of a date night.

 **Luke** (4:38):  
nono its date night for Cal & Mike

 **Ashton** (4:38):  
Oh. Ah young love. beautiful.

 **Luke** (4:39):  
u wanna have a date night

 **Ashton** (4:40):  
?

 **Luke** (4:41):  
like friend-date night. y’know? we hang out again like last Wednesday but like, every wednesday from now on, like it’s a thing. Wednesday Date Night™

 **Ashton** (4:42):  
Is that a cute idea? Yes. do i formally agree? Also yes.

***

Wednesday is Luke’s new favorite day. But how could it not be when Ashton and he are sitting on the fire escape together, listening to the cars below chorusing their horns together in a harmony like it’s a song.

“I love this city.” Ashton inhales deeply in through his nose and Luke wonders how good the smog smells. 

“I’m glad you do,” Luke says, strumming at his guitar settled in his lap. “Someone ought to.”

“What?” Ashton looks down at him from where he is sitting on the steps of the fire escape leading to the next apartment up. His smile is evenly balanced on his face. “You don’t?”

Luke lets out a snort. “Of course I don’t.”

Because he doesn’t. He hates this city. He hates being afraid he won’t be able to pay for heating or electricity or food. Worried about tinted windows taking him away and not letting him back out. He’s worried about breaking one of his legs in a shitty hotel and then not having a phone to call Calum with to save him. 

“Well I do,” Ashton says and he settles into the steps further. “I love it.”

Luke wants to ask Ashton what exactly he loves about it, because he can’t think of anything but he finds himself staring at Ashton’s jaw, which is pointed up at the dimming sky as the sun slips away. 

He says, “you’re twenty one.”

Ashton grins, his eyes closed as he basks in the dying light of the evening. “Astute observation, Lu.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “That’s pretty old.”

“Practically ancient.” Ashton hums. “Everyday, I feel closer to the grave. I’m in desperate need of a walker. Where’s my wheelchair?”

“I just mean—” Luke snorts— “That you’ve been alive for a while.”

Ashton leans his head foreward. “Why’re you calling me old? I have been nothing but nice to you today.”

“One, you’re wrong, you told me I was too tall—”

“Stating the obvious!” Ashton says. “You’re like a giant!”

“And, two, I’m just saying that you’ve been here a while longer than I have.” Luke picks at his strings. “In this city, I mean.”

“Sure, I guess.” Ashton shifts. “Been here my whole life.”

Luke swallows and his voice is small when he asks, “Ash?”

Ashton is watching him carefully. Watching the way his fingers dance on the guitar strings. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever been in love before?” Luke asks like a child.

Ashton smiles at him and it’s different than his broad one. It’s nothing but simple and kind. The sort of smile you give as a gift. “Have I ever been in love?”

“Yeah.” Luke really wants to know.

Ashton puckers his lips thoughtfully for a moment before he says, “y’know, I think a long time ago I was. In High School, there was this boy I knew named Jack, he was a senior when I was a sophomore and…” Ashton laughs to himself like remembering it is funny. “And he kissed me in the locker room once after football practice.”

Luke is staring at Ashton with big, sparkling eyes, his guitar forgotten in his lap.

“Yeah.” Ashton nods in finality. “Yeah, I think I loved him.”

“What happened to him?” Luke wonders. 

“Don’t know.” Ashton frowns. He glances down at Luke. “Why?”

“I was just curious,” Luke tries to deflect.

“Have you?” Ashton asks him. 

“Ever been in love?” Luke glances away at the streets where the cars bump along. “No. But I’d like to be one day.”

Ashton smiles at him. “I’m sure you will.”

Luke sends him a look and he memorizes the way Ashton looks in this lighting, sharp jaw and hazel eyes and deep dimples, his grin like a friendly gift.

He’s sure he will too.

***

On Tuesday night, Luke and Calum get home later than usual. Michael greets them with a joint between his lips which Calum instantly goes to retrieve and Luke doesn’t even say hello back, only says without looking at either of them, “I need a shower.”

They’ll never argue with that. He wishes he could say more than that but he knows it’s an unspoken and unspeakable thing. Besides, it wasn’t even that bad tonight. It wasn’t as bad as it has been nor as bad as it could be. He just feels sick.

After he strips himself down to nothing, leaving his clothes in a pile in the corner of their bathroom, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink and lets out a heavy breath. 

He looks normal. 

He looks so fucking normal. 

His skin isn’t marred or scratched or bruised. It’s smooth and pale and so absolutely fucking normal that it makes Luke choke. How can he look so normal and feel so sick?

He can’t clamber into the shower fast enough, pulling the door of it closed, immersing himself in the flood of water coming from the head and oh _fuck_ that feels so good. It feels so fucking good that for a moment, he forgets every thing that’s ever happened to him. For a brief moment his head is clear and good and everything is okay. 

He thinks that, under this water, everything is warm and kind and he’s going to fall in love one day with someone—maybe someone who has a bright smile and hazel eyes—and he’s going to be hurt in the most incredible way. 

And then, just as fast, it all hits him. 

All these blurred, high feelings of hands on him and lips on him and the hazy images of a toothy smile and there are hands all fucking over him leaving touches that don’t mean a fucking thing and he can’t breathe. 

He finds himself on the shower’s floor, cowered in the corner beneath the spray of water, heaving out gasping breaths and clutching onto his bare chest with his shaking fingers, trying to dig his heart out so it will just stop beating. 

_Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—_

He feels like he’s drowning. 

“Luke.” Michael’s voice is outside the door and Luke freezes. “I need to take a piss, are you almost done?”

Luke takes a second to collect himself, wiping frantically at his eyes. “Y-yeah, just give me a second!”

If Michael notices the quiver in his voice, he doesn’t say anything, and Luke leaves the bathroom in a rush to get to his room, towel around him like a shield. 

He can’t seem to stop shaking.

He just wants to feel clean again.

***

Luke is still a whore for hire so he’s not immensely lucky but sitting across from Ashton Irwin on his fire escape on his Wednesday afternoons, holding his guitar in his lap and belting _Dreams_ by Fleetwood Mac at the top of his lungs while Ashton sings along, his eyes closed and curls bouncing as he bobs his head, holding his glass of wine up to the sky, Luke feels like things are going too well for him.

Surely the other shoe will drop soon. 

Surely it will.

***

And it does.

Michael is propped on the couch Friday afternoon and Calum is passing him a bottle of water. The TV is on, filling the silence with a haze of senseless sound and Luke is walking around in a circle behind the couch, holding his guitar but not playing any music. 

He’s wondering to himself about what Ashton does on a Friday afternoon. Apparently it’s the more acceptable date night. What does Ashton think a good date is? A walk in the park? A movie at home? A fancy dinner complete with candles? What made him fall in love with that boy named Jack? 

Luke’s thinks his perfect date would probably be music on a fire escape with grape juice for wine. 

“I could get a job,” Michael says out loud and Luke and Calum both stop what they’re doing to look at him. Michael clears his throat, avoiding eye-contact with both of them and maintaining a staring contest with the television. “Like a real job. Other than hooking.”

Calum and Luke share a glance. 

“I just…” Michael rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t want to go back.”

Calum and Luke stare at him. Neither of them say a word. 

Michael finally turns over his shoulder to look at them, green eyes pleading. He repeats, quieter, “I don’t want to go back. I don’t think that I can.”

Luke never thinks he can either. But he does. What a fucking dumb thing to say.

It’s Calum who breaks the silence by placing a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and then a kiss to the top of his head. He mumbles into Michael’s hair—the words that make Luke stagger, “you dumbass. You don’t have to.”

Michael lets out this shaky sigh of relief and leans up to kiss Calum hard on the mouth. Luke watches from the other side of the room. His grip tightens on his guitar like a vice. 

_That’s not fair_ , he thinks, clenching his teeth. That’s not fucking fair.

But he doesn’t say anything out loud, and Calum and Michael keep smiling, unaware of the fact that Luke has climbed out the window onto the fire escape to hear the cars honk and imagine Ashton’s voice saying ‘I love this city.’

***

“He’s quitting.”

Luke is laying on his back on the metal, hands on his stomach as he stares up at the darkening sky. His brow is furrowed deeply and Ashton is sitting up a few feet away from him, leaning against the wall, scratching at his three days worth of stubble. It makes him look older, and for some reason, sadder. 

Or maybe that’s just Luke.

“Like _quitting_ quitting?” Ashton asks, rubbing his chin. 

Luke nods. He hates to even think of it.

Ashton takes a moment of consideration. His voice is low when he asks, “It’s because of his leg, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Luke agrees. “It’s gotta be. Gotten a taste of the freedom.”

“Well.” Ashton is watching Luke fidget. “If that’s what he wants to do.”

Luke snaps his head to the side, eyes bugging. “What! You think he just _can_? You think he can just up and leave this?”

“I think he can do whatever he wants,” Ashton answers with a shrug. 

“No, he can’t,” Luke argues, sitting up entirely. “It’s not fair.”

Ashton asks, “What’s not fair?”

That stops Luke in his tracks and he merely sits there, staring at Ashton in silence as he tries to think of the best way to say what he’s thinking without sounding like the most selfish bastard alive. Except, there’s no way to say it without sounding selfish. It’s a selfish thought.

“It’s not fair—” Luke fights to not sound like a prick before he lets out a tired sigh and slumps— “it’s not fair that he can quit and I can’t.”

Ashton tilts his head to the side. 

“I mean—” Luke throws a hand up— “we got into this together, y’know? Me and him. Because his parents threw him out—the most cliche fucking story ever, I swear to God—and because I wanted to play music. We came out here together and he’s the one that—”

He lets out a shuddering breath. 

“He’s the one that said we should do this. _He’s_ the one. And now he gets to what? Calum lets him just throw it away? He gets to quit? And I have to stay?”

“You don’t have to stay,” Ashton says quietly, maintaining eye contact. 

“I do though; you don’t get it.” Luke is scowling. “This is the only thing I _can_ do. Music hasn’t worked out and I haven’t done anything else. I didn’t even graduate High School, Ashton. Michael _did_. He can do things and I can’t and it’s not fucking fair becuase I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He feels close to tears. 

Ashton chews at his bottom lip. 

“Y’know what? It’s fucking whatever.” Luke starts to stand up, brushing off his pants. He doesn’t want Ashton to see him cry. “You don’t get it. You have a real job. I know you just do this for the pocket change. It’s not the same for you.”

He moves towards the window and is shocked when something stops him from making it any further. Ashton’s hand is wrapped tightly around his forearm and now he’s glaring at Luke, that usual smile no longer in place. It’s almost scary.

“You’re wrong,” Ashton says and his voice is flat. He takes a step back from Luke, his grip slipping away and he tucks his hands beneath his arms. “I don’t do this for pocket change.”

Luke asks, blinking his eyes harshly to keep tears back, “So why do you do it, then?”

Ashton sends a sideways glance out to the other buildings on the street before he turns back. When he notices Luke is looking at him, he lets out a sigh. “Nevermind. I just—”

Ashton’s cheeks are red as though he’s embarrassed of what he’s about to say but then he clears his throat and shakes his head. 

“I gotta go anyway.”

Luke’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say something but Ashton is already climbing back through the window to get inside. As he steps over the windowsill, he looks over his shoulder, turning his hazel eyes up to Luke. His smile is gone and he just doesn’t look the same when he is frowning.

He says, quietly to Luke, words that break Luke’s heart harder than a hammer or meaningless touches, “I wish you wouldn’t talk about me like you know me.”

And then he’s left Luke on the fire escape, his mouth open, shock bleeding into his body as the adrenaline pours out. 

The tears leave with it.

***

Ashton won’t talk to him.

Not that Luke blames him. Luke was a bitch in assuming he knew anything about Ashton. He was a royal prick, and he’ll be the first one who admits that. He just wishes Ashton would respond to his texts so he could tell him that. 

Michael and Calum notice his shift in attitude, how he sulks around the house, jumping every time his phone buzzes in the hope that it’s Ashton. But it’s not.

He doesn’t even give Luke the time of day when they see each other on the street. But maybe that’s Luke's fault for not attempting to start a conversation. No. He doesn’t yell at Ashton or wave to him, merely watches the older boy slip into sleek black cars with tinted windows with that broad smile, open and toothy. 

It always scares him when he doesn’t see the car return. 

“He’s a big boy,” Calum tells him with a huff, picking at a button. “He can take care of himself, Lukey.”

Luke nods awkwardly and massages his neck. “Yeah. You’re right.”

And, sure Calum is, but Luke spends the night tracking every car with his blue eyes hoping to catch hazel ones.

***

It’s Wednesday night.

It’s Wednesday night. 

If Michael’s leg wasn’t broken, Luke would have Wednesday night off. Luke would be at home on the windowsill, guitar propped on his thigh while he played everything going on in his head, thoughts translating to music notes and lyrics. 

If Luke hadn’t said something stupid to Ashton they would have had their friend date. But he’d hurt Ashton’s feelings because he was a prick and he hadn’t drank grape juice and pretended it was wine or sang on his fire escape. 

His vocal chords feel unnecessary. 

Tonight, he can’t think about music. 

Can’t think about how much he wants to hold his guitar in his hands. How much he wants to scribble lyrics in his notebook. How much he wants to curl up on the couch and just be alone in his skin, away from others’ hands. 

But that’s not what he gets. 

That’s not what he has as he stumbles from a hatchback, barely catching himself before he falls onto the pavement. He feels like his feet aren’t carrying him properly as he makes it onto the sidewalk. 

“Luke?” Calum’s voice asks and Luke blinks up to see the other boy coming towards him, shock and concern written across his features. “Are you okay?”

It takes Luke a second to remember English. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine just—”

He breaks off, shaking his head. It’s not the sort of thing he’s supposed to talk about and Calum instantly grabs him by the shoulder to keep him up. He asks, without hesitation, “do you need to go to the clinic?”

“No.” Luke waves a hand, taking in a soft breath as he stands up, wiping at his eyes. “No, I’m fine, seriously. I’ll be fine.” 

“Did he pay?” Calum asks, not taking his eyes off Luke for a second. 

Luke swallows; his throat is dry. “No.”

Calum clenches his teeth, sending look down the street but the car is already gone. “Fucking bastard.”

Yeah. He was. 

Luke moves a hand to his ribs which ache with the memory of a sharp fist connecting. He wonders if there’s a wedding ring indent on his skin. 

“Let’s get you home, huh?” Calum offers, sounding distressed as he pulls Luke’s arm around his shoulders. “God, he did a fuckin’ number on you.”

Luke laughs humorlessly and it’s not said to Calum so as much as it is to God, “at least he didn’t break my leg, though, right?”

Calum stiffens against him and doesn’t say anything else on the walk home. Guess the joke hit too close to home.

***

**Luke** (10:02):  
Hey. I know you’re still mad at me, which is valid and all that, but Cal is alone tonight. can you spot him, please? Just make sure he makes it back okay. Please. Thanks.

 **Ashton** (10:05):  
Yeah. Of course i can.

 **Ashton** (10:06):  
why is he alone?

 **Luke** (10:07):  
I’m out 

**Ashton** (10:08):  
why?

_Seen 10:09_

***

Luke is staring at his phone when Michael hobbles into the living room on one crutch. He shuts it off too quickly, wipes his nose too hurriedly and that is what tips Michael off.

He slows his walk as he passes the back of the couch, hovering behind Luke as he narrows his eyes. He asks, gentler than Michael usually talks, “you okay?”

Luke thinks he should lie at this point but all he can do is let out a snort. “I got raped and robbed, no I’m not okay.”

Michael viscerally flinches on the words impact. He mumbles, just above a hiss, “ _Luke_.”

It’s a warning and Luke takes in a shaky breath. 

“Right,” he says, sniffing as he pockets his phone and stands from the couch. “I forgot it was an unspoken thing. Can’t say it out loud now, can we? That’s against the rules.”

He gives Michael a studying look, dangerous, and Michael averts his eyes. 

Luke bites the inside of his lip. It’s another unspoken thing, the reason why it goes unspoken. Speaking things makes them too real. 

“How’s your leg?” he asks. 

“It’s good,” Michael forces. 

Another unspoken thing. Michael’s leg isn’t getting any better.

***

When Calum comes home that night, Luke hears him before he sees him. He can make out the painful drag of his boots on the carpet as the door creaks open and although the sounds aren’t any different than any other footfalls, Luke feels them weigh heavy on the floor.

He looks over his shoulder and makes out Calum’s dark shadow entering the home. He says quietly, “hey.”

“Hey,” Calum replies, walking over to him, “what’re you doing awake? The first night you’ve had off in like a month and you waste it like this?”

“I didn’t waste it,” Luke says and he holds up the book that was sitting in his lap. “I got some reading in. I never have time to read anymore.”

“Oh for sure,” Calum agrees, walking around the side of the couch to sit down beside Luke’s feet. “You know how little time we have between sucking dick and fondling balls, I mean there’s barely time to breathe.”

Luke chuckles without mirth. “How was tonight?”

Calum heaves out a breath, maybe his soul exiting his body with it, shoulders sagging as he sinks back into the couch. “I’m exhausted. And I’m mad.”

Luke gives him a questioning look and Calum sits back up.

“Your little guard dog? Wouldn’t leave me alone the entire fucking night.” Calum shakes his head. “I swear, it was like you told him I was dying. The man did not leave my side. What the fuck did you do to him, by the way?”

“Huh?” Luke frowns, shutting his book. 

“You’d think you castrated the poor fool.” Calum shakes his head back and forth. “Walking around like a kicked puppy, asking how you are, what you’re doing. What’d you do? D’you really break his heart, Luke? Thought you were above that.”

“I didn’t do—” Luke stops— “He asked about me?”

“The whole goddamn night!” Calum throws his head back against the sofa. “It’s all he fucking talked about. ‘Why isn’t Luke out tonight? Where’s Luke? What’s he up to? Do you know if Luke has listened to that new All Time Low album? Is he okay? What has he been doing on Wednesday afternoons?’ I mean seriously, you’d think he was your poor wife waiting up for you while you went off to war.”

Luke lets out a nervous chuckle but his heart has taken a small tumble in his chest at the implication. Ashton asked about him. So even if he hurt Ashton that night, there isn’t anything saying they can’t get back to where they were. Luke can fix this. He knows he can. 

“Hey,” Calum says and his eyes are closed, “d’you know when you’re gonna be back at it? No rush, I mean, but—”

“I’ll be ready tomorrow,” Luke promises and Calum doesn’t protest through anything other than a concerned hum. But Luke’s perfectly fine to go back. He knows Ashton is thinking about him. And besides, it’s not like he broke his leg. He doesn’t need a few weeks off anyway.

***

**Luke** (5:36):  
Hey? Where r u?

 **Ashton** (5:40):  
Huh? 

**Luke** (5:41):  
It’s Wednesday.

 **Ashton** (5:41):  
omw

***

When Ashton shows up an hour later, rain is hammering on the roof and slamming itself against the window in hopes of getting in. It seems it did find its way to Ashton because when Luke opens the door, Ashton is soaked from head to toe—just like he was that first night Luke saw him slinking into sleek black cars—and his hair is plastered to forehead in strips and his shirt clings to his skin like it's part of him and his smile is the same.

It’s broad and dimpled and shiny and Luke lets out a small breath of relief upon sight of it. 

Like an idiot, he states the obvious. “Jesus, you’re fucking soaked.”

“I know,” Ashton says back and he laughs, looking down at himself. 

“Here c’mon.” Luke nods his head inside. “I’ll grab you a change of clothes. You didn’t think to get an umbrella or anything?”

“Nah,” Ashton says and Luke glances over his shoulder to see him kicking his drenched shoes onto the doormat so he can walk in on wet socks. “Sorry about your floor.”

“It’s alright.” Luke smiles to himself. “Go into the bathroom, just down the hall.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Luke watches as Ashton moves towards the bathroom, and it’s definitely just a joke but he wants their interaction to be bright and happy; he needs the secret to Ashton’s smile so he can use it for himself so he says, “did you remember the wine?”

It’s entirely a joke and Luke is shocked when Ashton holds up the bottle of grapefruit juice he was hiding behind his back. He asks, eyes not meeting Luke’s, “how could I forget?”

Luke laughs in alarm. 

Ashton offers, handing it off to him, “Make us both a glass while I dry off.”

Without another word, Ashton has wandered off into the bathroom, trailing wet footprints in his wake. Luke watches his back and the way his shirt clings to his shoulders. His breath and the words seem lodged in the middle of his chest but he doesn’t know exactly how to get them out. He sets the grapefruit juice on his coffee table before moving to the kitchen to collect two glasses. 

He calls from the kitchen, “hey, Ash?” at the same time Ashton’s voice comes from the bathroom asking, “why were you out yesterday?”

Luke stiffens, hands freezing on the glasses, because that’s a loaded question. Or, well, it’s not a loaded question for him because he knows the answer, it’s more about what Ashton wants to hear because that is a loaded answer. After what happened with Michael, it’s an unspoken thing. Calum doesn’t like it out loud either. It’s the thing that hovers over them like a dark cloud but none of them say, which Luke finds moronic. It’s not like it hasn’t happened to each of them before. And besides, it’s barely different from everyday occurrences. Only less money, it seemed, a deeper ache, and an even greater sense of self-loathing than before. 

How was it different? It was merely meaningless touches that meant even less than usual. 

“I uh—” Luke hesitates before he calls out— “I mean, do you want the truth?”

He retrieves his wine glasses, turning back to the kitchen. He hears shuffling from the bathroom and then it’s Ashton’s voice calling back, a tad lowered, “did he pay you?”

Luke’s throat feels thick as he pours a glass of grapefruit juice. “No.”

There’s silence from the bathroom except for some more shambling and Luke hears the sound of damp clothes hitting the floor. 

He takes in a breath before he calls, “you know how Michael broke his leg, don’t you?”

It’s technically not something he’s supposed to be talking about but by dammit he is so fucking tired of this unspeakable thing. 

Ashton’s voice has lost it’s shiny edge and it’s dull when it returns, “I don’t.”

Luke says into a glass of grapefruit juice but it’s really to Ashton, “A John broke it.”

The bathroom is silent.

“He went to this hotel with a guy. Promised him four hundred.” Luke takes a greedy sip of his grapefruit juice, pretending for the sake of his sanity that it’s really wine. “And he called Cal and I while we were on the street and he was just _sobbing_. I thought for a second that he was dying, y’know. And Calum told me to call an ambulance. There were these like two or three hours where I just…” 

Luke glances back at the bathroom. The door is open and the fluorescent light bleeds into the hallway but he can’t see Ashton inside nor can he hear his movement. 

“Didn’t know if he was gonna… I mean I didn’t know if he was gonna be okay.”

There’s a long pause before Ashton’s voice says, “I didn’t know that.”

“But you could have guessed,” Luke replies, holding a glass of grapefruit juice in both hands while he takes a step closer to the bathroom to hear Ashton better. 

He’s glad he did because Ashton’s voice is soft. “I wouldn’t have wanted to guess that.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal at this point, is it?” Luke spins the grapefruit juice in its glass. “It’s happened to all of us once.”

He throws back a sip of his grapefruit juice. He wishes, in this moment more than ever, that he was a drug addict whore and he had never touched a guitar in his life. All he wants is to breathe in smoke and pop pills and shoot up his veins until they aren’t even filled with blood any more, his heart is pumping ecstasy instead. He wishes he couldn’t even feel. 

“I’m sorry,” he says into his glass.

“For what?” Ashton sounds confused and there’s more moving around from inside the bathroom. Luke didn’t give him a change of clothes or anything. 

“For—” Luke blinks down into his juice— “For hurting you when I said that… you do it for pocket change.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Luke,” Ashton replies, his voice so gentle, like he’s talking to a child. 

“I did.” Luke has found himself right outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall next to the door frame and when he looks at the ground of the hallway, he can see Ashton’s shadow in the bathroom, standing stone still with a towel around his waist. He feels bad that he didn’t get him any clothes and yet he doesn’t move to retrieve any.

“Yeah…” Ashton admits. “You did.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Luke inhales sharply. “I swear I didn’t mean to, Ash, I’m sorry. I was just so fucking mad that Michael thought—”

He breaks himself off. 

“Don’t be sorry, Luke,” Ashton replies and Luke hates that he sounds so kind. He shouldn’t be. Luke doesn’t deserve it. “I forgave you ten minutes after you said it. I just needed a little time to sort through some things.”

Luke doesn’t know why he feels like crying. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.” Luke watches Ashton’s shadow for a second there, standing in his bathroom before it shakes its head. Ashton’s voice sounds heavier than Luke has ever heard it before. “I’m just so fucking sorry this happened to you. I’m really so fucking sorry, Luke, you don’t even understand. You don’t deserve it.”

Luke takes in a sharp breath and instantly diverts his eyes to his glass and away from Ashton’s shadow. It’s an unspoken thing. 

“If I could make it me,” Ashton’s shadow promises, “I would in a second, Luke.”

“You wouldn’t,” Luke says, because he wouldn’t wish this common emptiness his worst enemy. “It’s not new so… I wouldn’t feel bad for me, I would just… I’m glad it hasn’t happened to you yet, y’know. That you do this for extra money and—”

“What?” Ashton’s shadow moves abruptly, as if been struck. “Luke, of course it’s happened to me.”

That stops Luke in his tracks and he completely forgets common decency as he turns his head right through the open doorway of his bathroom to look at Ashton, his eyes wide as he holds two glasses of grapefruit juice in his hands. 

Ashton has dripped a puddle of water onto the tiles of Luke’s bathroom floor and he’s standing there, blinking up at Luke through those bright hazel eyes but his smile is gone. He is shirtless, standing in nothing but a towel he’s wrapped around his waist, his hair still messy and damp against his skull, water dripping from it and down off the tip of his nose. 

More water is dripping down between his collarbones from his hair and down the front of his torso, taking a path Luke has never traveled but he sees that it is traveled by many because he can tell that fingerprints have made footprints on Ashton’s hips, purple and blue and yellow, resting on his hip bones and disappearing beneath the towel’s shield. The bruises are dark and he knows it’s a horrible thing to do but he can’t stop staring at them and he can’t keep his jaw from dropping as Ashton stands there. 

“Ashton—” he breathes, and he wishes he wasn’t holding two glasses of fucking grape fruit juice because otherwise he would have covered his mouth with a palm.

Ashton nervously rubs one of his forearms, keeping his eyes away from Luke. He asks, voice thick, “wine, please?”

Luke, still in a state of shock, hands over a glass of grapefruit juice which Ashton takes from him. He says, “it won’t make you drunk.”

Ashton takes a small sip and forces a smile. “I can pretend it will.”

Luke continues to stare at him and he doesn’t even know what he wants to say. How you can say ‘sorry’ a hundred times over and for the words to actually mean something? Especially when he has no experience talking about this. When it’s something Michael, Calum, and he have never even tried to address. It’s just something that happens. 

_Not forever_ , they always say but these days it feels like longer than that.

When Michael broke his leg, they never said shit about it. They acted like it hadn’t happened other than the extra attention that Calum gave him but even then, Calum would deny that. 

It’s all so unspeakable. How is he meant to speak it to Ashton?

“I don’t choose to do this,” Ashton says, holding his wine. It feels awkward that he’s in a towel and Luke is fully clothed but Luke isn’t about to strip down. “I have to do this.”

“You have a job—” Luke starts to protest.

“Yeah, that pays minimum wage.” Ashton’s hazel eyes are drilling straight through him. “And that’s not enough.”

Ashton let out a sigh, darting his eyes away before he lets them return. 

“I have two younger siblings, a brother and a sister,” Ashton says and it sounds like the deepest secret he’s ever had to tell and Luke doubts that he’s worth it. “And I have to pay for them. To eat, to sleep, to go to college. And bartending doesn’t do that.”

“So you hook,” Luke mumbles and he feels like such a fucking jackass for ever insinuating that Ashton did this for himself. He was so selfish. Who did he do this for? Himself and his guitar but Ashton had people that depended on him. He opens his mouth like he’s going to apologize but he doesn’t get there. 

“I’ve been doing this for a while, Luke,” Ashton says and he glances down, adjusting the towel around his waist. “So I wouldn’t waste pity or anything like that… just like you said. It’s nothing new.”

“I never should have assumed,” Luke mumbles. 

“It’s fine.” Ashton adjusts his towel again and Luke feels terrible that he’s cornered the man naked in his bathroom like he’s a predator. 

Like he’s every man that drives sleek cars. 

And now he’s thinking about Ashton with younger siblings slipping out of their house in the dead of night, telling them he has somewhere important to be—that he has work—only to wait out on a street corner in the rain, hoping a car with tinted windows rolls up. Hoping it will pay more than the last. Hoping his body won’t hurt too bad the coming morning and he will be able to hide the ache when his siblings ask how he’s feeling because he has a limp. 

Hoping he comes back at all. 

“I hate this,” Luke says out loud and Ashton glances up at him. His hazel eyes are so wide and his ever present smile has faded away and he looks so stripped down, shirtless and wet in Luke’s bathroom with those young eyes and dark bruises on his hips. “I hate this life and this city. I wish that—I mean, that everything was different.” 

“Yeah.” Ashton lets out a breathy laugh and he takes a sip of his grapefruit juice again. “But some things can stay the same.”

Luke doesn’t understand. 

“For instance,” Ashton says, “I like my wine.”

He holds up a silent cheers with his glass and Luke can’t help but let out a surprised laugh.

“And I like when it rains, because rain on your face feels nice.” Ashton hums to himself, looking into his glass and his smile is starting to return to his face, just as broad and Luke is enamored with it. The way Ashton’s dimples curve and how shiny his teeth are and how his lips curl and his eyes squint. “I like listening to music and I like making an Old Fashioned at the bar. I like taking a walk around town. I like hearing my brother talk about school or teasing my sister about her boyfriends. I don’t think it has to all be bad, even if this is. I’m not unhappy. I’m just… I do what I have to while I can.”

His eyes meet Luke’s and Luke just keeps staring at him, in awe of him. Because he doesn’t think about things like that. He doesn’t savor those small moments the same way it seems Ashton does. 

“And,” Ashton adds, softer, “I like you. I like hearing you play guitar and I like it when we sit on your fire escape and talk about love and music and art and life.”

He grins.

“I like _you_.”

And then Luke kisses him. 

He doesn’t know what exactly compels him to do such; all he knows is that he needs to. 

Ashton flinches in shock at first but then he kisses Luke back and his tongue tastes like grapefruit juice masquerading as wine and Luke can taste his smile against his lips.

He thinks about all the men in the last two years that he has sucked and fucked and all the meaningless touches that have littered his body and the bruises on Ashton’s hip bones. His own fingertips hover over them but he doesn’t dare touch them. One of Ashton’s hands is on his waist and his lips continue to meet Luke’s and Luke thinks to himself that Ashton’s touch means everything. He thinks to himself that his heart hurts in his chest in the most beautiful, exquisite way. 

Finally, they split apart and Luke knows he’s blushing something awful, all the way down to his chest. Ashton’s hand remains on his waist. 

He says, laughing slightly with that same smile, “Luke?”

Luke finds his mouth saying into the space between their lips where hot breath lingers, their glasses of grape juice barely clicking when he leans in again, “it’s not forever though, right?”

“No.” Ashton’s lips are so soft and his touch means everything. “It’s not forever. But it’s for now. While it has to be.”

And when Luke kisses him again, he thinks that he can learn to live with it for now while he has to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!  
> I swear I write happy things; my next fic will be happy.


End file.
